


The Lost and the Lonely

by MemoryCrow



Category: Labyrinth (1986)
Genre: Dark Fairy Tale Elements, Developing Relationship, F/M, Fae & Fairies, Inanimate Object Porn, Magic, Magical Realism, Masturbation, Past Relationship(s), Porn With Plot, Porn with Feelings, Psychological Drama, Slow Build
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-23
Updated: 2016-06-05
Packaged: 2018-06-10 03:57:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 31
Words: 46,102
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6938686
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MemoryCrow/pseuds/MemoryCrow
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An older and present day Sarah is reunited with Jareth in the here and now.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Rabbit

**Author's Note:**

> This little story may have a hard time finding it's place, for it meanders a good bit. It's explicit in big chunks, and yet I'm not sure it reads well as smut. Lots of thinking and talking. I decided to post it, regardless, because for me Jareth was one of the first villains that confused me by making me want him. A lot.( As a girl, I might not have done right by Toby.) And I still can't believe I now live in a world without David Bowie!

The Market started back up again in May, luring Sarah out into the early morning. It was still chilly in the mornings, summer something of a delayed season in the foothills and mountains. But the days were becoming mild, warm and lovely.

They were setting up as she arrived. Tent-like stalls were in place, but plants and produce were still being hauled from pick-up trucks, the backs of sedans.... whatever the little grouping of hippie farmers had at hand.

  
Sarah meandered, looking at whatever was out on display, the pickings sparse in her earliness. She clutched her sweater about her.... Her optimism for the latter part of the day had clouded her morning judgment. Likewise the farmers, many in shorts and tee-shirts. Everyone was quiet, goose-bumped; rubbing their hands together as if before a fire. Across the street, roadside melting into woods, mist hung heavy in a twilight veil.

  
In addition to produce, Sarah was pleased to see that some vendors were selling fresh eggs, homemade breads and cakes; jellies, jams, pestos. No doubt it would be overpriced, but it was a nice change from the grocery store.

  
One man was selling micro-greens, and Sarah overheard his conversation with a customer. The greens, in fact, were sprouts, harvested before they grew up. He had sprouts of corn, which he described as "sweet" and sold as "Cornsicles". Joking with the customer, he said that when the sprouts first emerged, they were little, blonde spears.... he'd considered calling them "Brittney Spears".  
Sarah smiled to herself, and she heard the customer say, "Clever, that."

  
Her mother, back when she was more or less content to be a mother, used to say, "A rabbit ran over my grave."  
What a phrase, spoken by the living. It came immediately to mind. Sarah saw her grave, a crumbling of stone that marked her, but did not speak of her, in a far off, windswept place. Grassy and lonely. A rabbit paused for a nibble.

  
It was the customer's voice; a Brit. There were a fair number of British people in and about the small town; German as well. It wasn't that surprising to hear the accent. But this person.... this man's voice made a rabbit run over her grave.

  
She couldn't see much of him from the back... A straw, fedora-like hat covered head and hair, a little floppy. He wore a flannel shirt, loose and open, as a jacket, and khaki pants. From the back he looked like everyone. Like no one.

  
But the soft articulation, the little hint of purr, or growl, so far beneath the tone of voice as to be missed altogether.... "Clever, that."  
Sarah didn't want to stalk. She didn't know what she was looking for, anyway. She didn't know why the voice created a sepulchral rabbit or made her intensely curious to see the speaker. She moved on, eventually purchasing a jar of local honey and a tomato plant called "Sunburst". As the vendors became truly set up, wares stocked and beaming like jewels, the market filled with people. And their well-groomed, semi clothed dogs. Sarah looked about for the straw hat, but didn't see it.


	2. Rooster

It was a prolonged state of limbo in which she was living. She thought she wanted change, but then again.... Oh, the effort. She might not be up to it. Occasionally, when Sarah took stock of her life, a dull sort of depression took hold. It wasn't sadness, but neither did it resemble life. Or something lifelike. Most often she found herself musing over the Warren Zevon song, "My Shit's Fucked Up." _The shit that used to work... it won't work, now._

The facts: She was in her mid-forties, she was divorced - having first been long estranged from her ex-husband; she had come to live in a small, rural town simply because her father lived here. Because she had no one else.... not even a close friend. Post divorce, she was no longer a home owner, and apartments were few and far between in the mostly agricultural area. The apartment she finally found was small, old and in a complex full of people who were enduring some sort of hardship. Many of them received subsidies to help with the housing, and Sarah was surprised to learn that the subsidies came from the Department of Agriculture. Those guys, it seemed, had a hand in everything.

She was living life backwards, having at one time achieved a handful of milestones that marked maturity... but now she'd lost those. And, of course, no children.

Really, she didn't know what she was doing here. Already such a loner, whether she intended to be or not, the small town made her even more isolated. People were so much more insular than in the city where she'd live for most of her life. They kept to their families, and their families were _huge_.... and didn't take easily to newcomers.

This was true at her job, at her apartment, at the grocery store... it was true in most places of her everyday life. And her father... Well, she must have been feeling damn insecure to feel the need to live closer to him. He loved her... She thought he loved her. But his life with her step-mother was as separate from her as everything else. They hadn't stayed very close in all of these years; Why should it be different, now?

Sarah felt like she'd been in a mid-life crisis for the last fifteen years. Waiting. What was she waiting for?

Her ex-husband, a shy and mostly kind man, had said one thing that stung her, hurt her deeply. "Hell, Sarah. I don't have many friends, but you don't have _any_." It wasn't even an argument, only an observation. But it hurt to be seen, so plainly, as deficient. And here she'd thought, due to his shyness, that she'd been rescuing him. The unspoken, and - later - much spoken question of the marriage: Sarah, what is wrong with you?

She wanted to say it was only child syndrome, but - _whoops_ \- she wasn't an only child. She had a half-brother. She remembered feeling so fiercely protective of him, once. But he was so much younger than her, and, once she'd left home, he was so completely a part of the world created by her father and her step-mother. The world she'd more or less dropped out of.

It was now alien to her. It made a pretty picture of accomplishments, large homes in a Cape Cod design, children, extended family, _money_. Like so many men she saw in his age group, her brother did some ill-defined thing involving the Internet for a living. Or maybe it was only ill-defined to her, as she had not fully embraced the digital, virtual age. He lived outside of a big city in a big house with a big, manicured and landscaped lawn; with a wife, two children and three dogs. No one ever asked what was wrong with him.

To distract herself from The Big Empty, as sayeth the Stone Temple Pilots, Sarah kept her focus on the parts of the mountain town that charmed her. One or two little shops in town that seemed to draw an imaginative crowd; and animals, birds. Regular sightings of deer, and once - to her great surprise - a bear. Groundhogs... one who sat at the side of a fairly busy road, casually munching in an upright position, viewing passing cars as if saying, "Sup?"

Her apartment was bordered by woods, as nearly everything was. One day, chickens from some neighboring home came marching through the woods and had taken to hanging out.... patrolling about the complex.

It amused Sarah to no end, as she'd never lived anywhere where people kept chickens. Or where poultry roamed free, visiting nearby apartments. They ate her birdseed, and pretty much anything else she offered. (She found hilarity in feeding them grapes). The hens sometimes clustered all together, settling down for something of a siesta. When they did this, they began to speak in low, chuckling, conversational tones. Sometimes it sounded like one of them said, ".... _Giiiirrrlllllll_...."

There were a few roosters, all of them prancing around like matadors. Sarah smiled to see them; their comical, tea-pot bodies and little heads; their drag-queen tails of many colors... striking poses as though they were Mikhail Baryshnikov.

The visitation of hens and roosters came and went in little waves, but one rooster stayed. Sarah wasn't sure if he'd run away from home, or if he'd been ousted; but he seemed a full-time resident of the apartment complex.... And was a little worse for wear than the other roosters. He was a bit skinnier, his face a little ragged beneath his comb. His tail of black and greenish feathers was thinned, though arranged in a splendid spill. His body was covered in feathers of black, speckled and frilled with white.

He kept a regular patrol. He napped during parts of the day in piles of leaves, scooping them up around himself; at night he roosted in the cedar tree outside of Sarah's kitchen window. Every morning, when she switched on the kitchen light, the outside world still shrouded in darkness, the rooster began to crow.

She thought her neighbors must hate it, but Sarah loved it. He'd set up shop; he was a goofy sort of guardian. He made her have a strange feeling at times.... a sense of reverie, memory. Deja vu? Do I know you, she would wonder?

But mostly she was just glad for his ornery presence; strutting, gobbling up what she fed him, perching on the outside, air conditioning units. He crowed at all hours, as if just for fun, staying quiet only at night.

She sat on her back stoop, watching him scratch about in the dirt and moss. A storm was rolling in, shadows lengthening under an ominous sky. The scent of green things exhaling their thirst to the sky.

"Better get in your tree." she told him. "You've gone and scratched up a storm".

The rooster gave her an odd, sideways glance, then seemed to peer up at the sky.


	3. About Town

Outside of the pattern of insular families and untrusting residents, born of generations of untrusting residents, were a few local artists and writers. Local, in that they lived in the small town; but most were born and raised elsewhere.

And yet they'd somehow eeked out a living; a moderate amount of about-town fame. Sarah wondered how they'd done it... adapted. Blended in and yet stood out. Several, it turned out, had come under the wing of an elderly artist who truly was local. He had a long history with the town, and his most prized paintings seemed to be those of the town in days gone by. The town he grew up in.

For instance, Sarah learned that a restaurant in town used to be a filling station. The little, downtown theater, with it's productions of "Driving Miss Daisy" and "A Christmas Carol" was once a movie theater, where admission was twenty-five cents. There were once no McDonalds or Wendy's, but Joe Brown's was downtown, with the best hot dogs and hamburgers in collective town memory. Plus the pharmacy had a deli and a soda fountain.

The good ol' days. People were all about them, and was tricky to Sarah, as she hadn't been a part of it.

The elderly artist, now deceased, had been a doorway of sorts for the out of town artists and writers; a few musicians. They now seemed to be their own small support group, and Sarah sometimes engaged in voyeurism; observing them at Java Joes. (Which used to be _something_ , but she couldn't recall what. Post Office? Hardware store?)

In her everyday, working life, she felt like everyone was younger than her. They were younger, and the world and it's phrases were now global... Everyone, it seemed, was saying, "Bye Felicia!" Or, "The struggle is real". Or, " _Really_?" But watching the artists, who also seemed to say these things, it seemed like everyone was older. She liked to see them gathered.... Proof that life, connection could yet happen. But she sighed... Had she any peers? Similar to the hippie farmers at the Market, the men had a tendency to look like Gandalf. The women had an Earth Mother quality; jeans and hiking boots, or long skirts and Birkenstocks. Their hair was either very, very short or very, very long.

She eyeballed the group at their messy table. They had one of the few tables without a laptop propped open, but nearly everyone had a smart phone out. They looked at photos of each other's work; they shared information about events and grants. It seemed weird to Sarah to see the silver haired, wizard-men whizzing their fingers about their phones, excitedly.

Looking away from the group, Sarah turned to face the counter. She always read the long, exotic list of coffees and mused longingly over the glass cabinet of scones, muffins, and - at present - a triple chocolate cake with a butter cream icing, made with espresso. For crying out loud.

And yet she always ordered a cafe au lait.

There was a customer ahead of her; he turned, to-go cup in hand, and Sarah froze. Like a rabbit, who'd just realized it lounged on a grave. She knew, for no good reason, this was the Brit from the market. _Clever, that_. A loud voice in her head, loud enough to be heard over the sudden drumming, swooshing in her ears, said, _He's not British_...

A smallish, fair man, though taller than she. There was an elfin quality about him, _(as in Elf-King, Erl King, baby thief),_ and Sarah knew she knew him. But she couldn't bring the knowledge to the forefront of her mind; she couldn't make the shock of his face or her rising panic make any sense.

A flush of social phobia embarrassment heating her face, she turned and fled.


	4. Faerie Tales

Sometimes Sarah felt like the world wasn't safe. It had been that way for as long as she could remember. There were off and on years of therapy, sporadic times of medication. She was done with all of that, though. Done. No matter that her father, her _step-mother_ still made the occasional, less than gentle suggestion.

Fuck it.

_Fuck_ it.

She was done with doctors talking to her about repressed memories of trauma, (what freaking trauma?), and she was way done with medications that made her feel numb... not really caring about anything. It was all in the name of fitting in, being a good, little consumer, like everyone else. And though it pained her to so often feel so different, she'd come to a point of believing that's just who she was. Like Lady Gaga, she was born that way.

The unfathomable panic at Java Joes felt like a set-back. A back-slide. The world rose up, unsafe, maybe laughing at her, probably threatening. But why? All the way home she'd had tunnel vision, her peripheral vision darkened and frightening. She hadn't felt that way in years... since before her marriage. Back then, the doctor her father made her see said she was agoraphobic. That was crap... The out of doors, the sky didn't trouble her.

Things, people.... unsafe things and people in the world could... trigger her.

In her apartment, relatively safe, she calmed. Her vision got back to normal, even if her pulse stayed a little crazy. In lieu of her cafe au lait, she made a cup of tea. She looked out of her windows to see if the rooster was about.

Then, not sure what impelled her, she pulled out her many faerie tale books. What she wanted to know was; why? Why do so many of the villains in the tales want babies? Children?

The stories in which people sought to get rid of kids actually made more sense. They were terrible, ugly examples of human greed, violence, selfishness; but the motivations were more clear. Those who could no longer afford to keep and feed their children; those who would benefit richly from the sale or trade of a child.... those whose positions and/or agendas were threatened by a child, who must then be dispatched. Or those who, by genetic code or acquired taste, _ate_ children. Clearly they would become hunters and trappers of a gruesomely creepy nature.

But what about the other side? Why did Rumpelstiltskin want the firstborn of the Miller's daughter? Why did the Witch want Rapunzel? Why did the Erl King lure a child to death... or the Snow Queen abscond with her little Kay? What was it all about? If the children weren't rescued or if the villain's plot wasn't thwarted, what would happen to these children?

Were the villains like the nightmare group, the Boko Haram, stealing children to fight their wars? To die for their causes? Why did the faerie tale people not want riches, or land, or the promise of love? Why babies?

Finding no answers to her questions; only an always shocking amount of child abuse and abandonment within the stories; Sarah let her mind turn back to her panic.

Slowly, now.

She looked at the picture; Java Joes, it's unmatched tables and chairs, it's brick and pressed tin ceiling, exposed pipes. The always comforting, stimulating scent of rich, hot coffee. Warmth. Lone people with laptops; the comfortably unraveled table of artists, a little loud.

In slow motion, the man in front of her turned. Though she could hardly have registered it at the time, she now thought that he'd _recognized_ her. She felt sure of it. She _knew_ his look of recognition.... the slight head tilt; his smile that was oddly turned down at the corners, like a frown. _Oh, it's you_ , the look said.

Jesus, his face. He could be said to be handsome, and yet his face was a skull. Those cheekbones, standing out in such stark relief, and the deep hollows they created. She knew, without having seen, that when his smile was broad, wide; nothing held back; it was so redolent of skeletal grinning as to be frightful.

How did she know this?

It was the rabbit. The rabbit running over her grave... It had imparted this information to her from the start. Like Alice in Wonderland.

Oh, joy. These were the sorts of thoughts she could just imagine sharing with her father, with a doctor. Hell, with anyone. Nameless panic, foretold by a rabbit. Why do you suppose faerie tale babies are so coveted? But worry not, for the rooster is in his tree.


	5. Bad Dreams

Before she saw him again, she started having the dreams. She'd always had them... they messed her up a little. For awhile, she'd been in a nice holding pattern of _not_ having them.

The Homeless Dreams; that's what she called them. The Forgetfulness Dreams. The Dark Dreams. The dreams were nearly always dark, taking place in dark or deeply shadowed places. It felt like nothing was real... there was no such thing as home or family. People, as when her world felt unsafe, seemed hostile or strange... their faces zoomed into unexpected close-up, glaring. Degenerate and wicked.

Or, on the other hand, they acted as if she was degenerate; gathered around her, looking and showing that they'd become thrilled with disgust.

The first such dream, after Java Joes, found her in a house similar to the one in which she grew up. Other people were there, and there was a baby in a stroller. The house was dark; doors were missing or boarded up; wires hung and there were holes in the floors. Everything about it made her think the house was a facade, like the set of a play. She could take a misstep, fall through.... Into an even darker place, an unknown underworld.

In the dream, she pushed the baby in it's stroller out of a sliding, glass door, all darkness; but once outside, she was in a swamp. She was waist deep in water, horrified as to what was unseen, beneath, dark clumps of grass all around making it seem as if she should have been on solid ground.

The stroller sank. Though near frozen in terror, she dove under... finding the stroller, but not the baby. It was gone.

For the rest of the dream she'd wandered. That house, the fake house had not been hers. She had nowhere and no one that was hers. She was harried by the missing baby, also not hers, looking for it everywhere. She'd done something abhorrent.

Everywhere she went, it was colorless night and pools of stagnant, standing water. Mold, slime on the walls, unseen horrors. Malls, streets, grocery stores, random houses... every structure of man seemed to have been through a zombie apocalypse of sorts; any people she encountered seemed hungry and dangerous, hollow eyed. The sun was gone. Any sense of green, growing things was either gone, or changed into black rot; wild, noxious and thorny growth that hid legions of roaches, beetles and larvae.

It was a land of the dead, and she was alone in it, unprotected, hiding in darkness.... She skirted clusters of people, like packs of dogs, and side-stepped the hideous water that stood _everywhere._

She'd done something awful.

 


	6. In the Garden

The dreaming spurred Sarah to the only thing that had ever helped her, when medication and therapy had not: Routine. Structure. Her step-mother would approve of these things, at least in theory. She might not approve of Sarah's thoughts, of her isolation.

When it felt that darkness closed in; sometimes quite literally, tunnel vision becoming problematic; Sarah reinforced her sense of structure. Her routine became even more vigilant. Waking and sleeping times never varied. She was always a model employee, because this strict adherence to her patterns meant she never missed work. In addition, work meant she had to be around people, to remain accustomed to them. It blunted her feelings of fear, of _otherness_ , and alienation. People became more ordinary.

She was sure to be healthful in her diet, to get regular exercise, and to be outside. Blue skies, shifting and changing with cloud and color.... the surrounding mountains that also changed their color... sometimes, it seemed, their form... with the alteration of air and light. She watched the sun rise, and watched the streaks of crimson and deep orange against purple, midnight blue, as it set. She made herself step outside, into the cold night, to see stars and to dull her fear.

There was an element of denial in all of the healthful living. A suppression of thought; she was aware. But it was this, her adherence to routine, the self-imposed structure of her day that kept her on track. Steady. Semi-normal, able to function in the world. Passing for one of _them_.

All of her rituals did something to ease her mind. Her dreams didn't go away, but she could dismiss them with the morning. She could shake them off, figments, and be comforted by the rooster. By a pair of phoebes, nesting on her back porch. She could know that the light would return each day, and the dreams would not cling to her, like live things, haunting her and visibly marking her as different. The relapse of tunnel vision went away.

On one of her missions to be outside, to breathe the outside air and take in the various scents of green, she visited a garden, downtown. It was attached to a preserved, historical house; once the home of the milliner and her brother. One could tour it. Sarah had never been inside the house, but often visited the garden, located just across the street from the small library.

The garden was lush. It changed with the seasons, and wandered around a little, curving path. It was partly in sun and partly in shade, so that half was riotous, faerie-tale-cottage, blooming color; and half was deep and secretive... trillium and jack-in-the-pulpit nestled furtively under turtlehead, nodding around a shadowed, hushed koi pond.

Sarah walked slowly, breathing deeply. As lovely as the garden was, she was nearly always alone in it. She was free to let herself calm. To scent the loamy earth, and the delicate freshness of spring flowers... not yet the heavier scented, sun seeking flowers of summer.

Winding around a curve, she approached a bench. He was there.

Funny... She'd sort of known he would be. She'd wondered if she would see him again, this unexpected challenge to her mental well-being. She'd woken with the sense that today was the day. She would see him. _I'll go to the garden_ , she'd thought.

She was ready now. She would see him... He would just be a man, nothing to freak out about. Everything would be fine.

As it turned out, she _recognized_ him. While it wasn't the panic, the tunnel vision of _not_ knowing, it wasn't exactly fine, either. Stopping on the walkway, a few feet from the bench where he sat, she said, "You." Her breathing was strange.

He gave that upside down smile. The head tilt, his casual assessment of her. "Me." he agreed. Oh, that voice.... A softness on top of a baritone, always full of dark humor. The joke was on her; the doctors had been correct. She'd suffered from repressed memories. Of course, they were fishing for stories of abuse, sexual or otherwise; trauma. Had she been traumatized? What was coming back to her now, what began to click and slide into place was quite different.

The stuff of fantasy. Faerie.

And so maybe this wasn't about repressed memories, after all. Maybe she really was crazy... like truly, schizophrenic, hearing voices, seeing things sort of crazy. And here was her first proof; her imaginary.... _friend_? Come to life.

"Would you like to sit, Sarah?"

Holy fuck. He said her name. He said it in that voice. So they were going to do this, then. They were going to say; yes, we are these people. We were in another world, together. I was a reluctant rescuer and you were a magical king. _How've you been?_

Sarah approached with caution, and sat. She left space between them, turning to look at him, to process. Cold, seeping up from the stone bench, was starting a shiver inside her.

"You're older." he said.

Sarah rolled her eyes. Of all things. "Thanks." she said, dryly. "You're... different."

Though not older, exactly. But in a way, he'd always been older.

Favoring her with the smile-frown, he said, "You haven't much call for Goblin Kings in this world."

She felt a sense of movement, falling. Oh, she fell. Or sort of slumped. It was too much.... She was busy with too many selves. One was a teenage girl who had no problem at all believing any of it. One was a grown woman, fearing her true diagnosis had finally come to light. One was a voice that had been locked away for _years_... in an oubliette? A Sarah who was awash in revelation and indignation. A spirit, both girl and woman. She'd lost so much of herself in the long years of repression, and she mourned. She howled. She might have been glad to see him, or she might have wanted revenge. On him. On herself.

And so, as was said of people in a computer age, her circuits overloaded. She crashed.

He _held_ her. Well, it was the proper thing to do, or she'd just slide to the ground. She could curl up, there, amongst the bloodroot and May apple. This was a faerie garden... he should be in his element.

She was cradled in one arm, and with his other hand he fanned her face with his straw fedora. He was very crisp... neatly arranged. Gone was his wild, rooster hair and bird plumage eyebrows. Gone was his leather and long cloak.

His voice was the same as ever it was. "Sarah."

"I'm okay." Weird... she kind of _was_ okay. Almost... strong. Clear. She opened her eyes to see his face so close. Even in his new guise of _human_ , his narrowed eyes were weird. One hazel, one blue-green, one pupil dilated open, fixed. It seemed that, once upon a time, Sarah had known he could see more than one place at a time. More than one world. The dilated-pupil eye, the darker one, saw into other places... it was to do with some sacrifice, like Odin in his tree.

" _Jareth_." she said. It had to be spoken, Acknowledged.

"Yes."

He placed his hat on the bench, and touched his fingers to her face. He smelled of... cigarettes? That was odd. She'd expected the scents she knew from long ago.... leather and buttered rum; white cake, vanilla. A dusty scent from a windy, scorched landscape. Stone, lichen.... the scent of goblins? Moss, caves, straw brooms covered in spider-webs...

Instead it was a light cigarette scent that hit her first, smoke and burnt paper, strong at his fingertips. His scent was cooler, now. He might be wearing a cologne; that citrus/ocean sort of coolness the world declared "male". White tea, cypress.

"What are you _doing_ here?"

For... didn't she have to call him? Wasn't there a spell? A ritual? A spoken charm.

"I missed you." he said. There was a wistfulness in his eyes, his smile gone. Pale, silky hair fell over his forehead, and he raked it back with his hand... pale, sculpted hand.

" _Why?_ I ruined your life." And you, she thought, ruined mine.

The full smile appeared. Skeleton man. "That you did, love."

　

 


	7. Developmental Delay

It would be strange to see any man standing in her apartment. She hadn't really created a grown-up space, a space where a man might fit in, be comfortable. She didn't have a T.V.

But this... seeing Jareth... standing in her living room, looking avidly at everything... it was beyond strange. It was one step beyond one step beyond. It was dreamlike, surreal. Perhaps less so than if he'd appeared in a swirl of smoke and feathers, in full, Goblin King regalia... but still. It was freaking bizarre.

What was she supposed to do, though? She'd met an old friend/nemesis, someone who knew her - as they say - back in the day. Or possibly she'd met a full blown hallucination, and was learning to embrace the idea. Either way, what was there to do but invite him back to her place and make a cup of tea?

"You haven't changed, really." he said, looking around.

Fifteen to forty-five and no change? That was disheartening. But looking at her apartment, she could see how he would draw the conclusion. She could clearly remember him saying, "Go back to your room, Sarah. Play with your toys and your costumes." Well. A lot of those toys were still lurking about. She'd made herself part with things over the years, or at least pack them away. But she was attached. It was hard to fight the feeling that they, the toys, would feel lonely and abandoned should she outgrow them.

Stuffed animals; owls, bears, foxes; peered from hat boxes and amongst the books on her shelves. Lancelot was long gone... she'd given him to her brother, and he'd eventually misplaced the bear. He didn't need the animals, the stories as she did.

She was taken aback, her memory restored, to see just how much her apartment reflected her lost time. Figurines of faeries, hobgoblins. Odd birds, and her small, crystal sphere on it's gnarled, wooden stand. Paintings all around of dreamlike landscapes; hidden glens, shoals haunted by little lights, mysterious trees in autumn-swept plains.

Witches, bird feathers, and a big, illustrated book of Snow White that she kept wrapped in a gossamer, red ribbon. Everywhere she looked, a yearning for another world. Talismans of magic.

She'd never grown up. How the hell did a teenager lose her memory?

"Did you make me forget?" she asked Jareth, settled with tea.

With a startled look, he said, "No. I never. It _hurt_ me for you to forget, Sarah. It weakened me."

"Weakened."

"Yes. I lost my kingdom."

Her eyes widened. "And that's my fault? You stole my baby brother."

"You asked me to take him."

"You _knew_ I didn't understand."

"Understand what, love?" He'd had a coldness... Sarah now remembered it. He'd been able to make her feel so special, chosen. Yet always uncertain of herself. And then, when he bristled, when he tired of her accusations, he was cold. Windows closed on his eyes and his face showed only that he had little tolerance for idiots. He was giving her the look, his voice flat.

"... That it was _real_." she made herself say. "That _you_ , that magic... that any of it was _real_. You knew I was playing a game. You used my ignorance to steal my brother."

"Well. It wasn't theft, as you gave him away. And you got him back. You won, little girl. I lost _everything_. And- oh - Your brother turned out to be such a prince."

Did he know?

"Well, he's not a goblin."

He, _Jareth_ , looked away from her. He stared at his surroundings; her fanciful, childish things, shaking his head.

"They're happy, you know." he said.

"Who?"

"Goblins." He looked at her, the bemused curl of humor back in his voice. "They're happier than anyone I've met, here. He would have been happy."

"Not the point."

"No? What _is_ the point, Sarah? You want me to be responsible, to pay the price for things _you_ felt and things _you_ said. Because I was the grown-up and you were the child. I was _across worlds._ I was governed by laws of magic. I obeyed your wishes.... And, nevertheless, I did pay the price. It is paid. What recompense do you want from me now?"

Tears welled up in Sarah's eyes, and she blurted, "My _life_. That's what I want. I want the return of the person I was before you were real, and before I forgot everything. I want to have _not_ been lost and _haunted_ for the last thirty years!"

"Oh, Sarah." Jareth shook his head, sadly. He wasn't overly moved by her tears. "My dear, you did that to yourself."

 


	8. Who Are You?

They took to hanging out. It was weird.

Sarah couldn't tell if they liked one another or not, but they seemed to need each other... To be, perhaps, somewhat bound to each other. It was as if they'd been thrown together, two outsiders in a foreign speaking land.

He had a shop. This small fact of his life blew Sarah's mind; _boom_. His apartment was over the shop. _Boom_. He should sleep in a tree... hunt as an owl... prowl the surface of the moon.

"You _work?"_

Standing with his hands in the pockets of his neat khakis, he couldn't be more different from his days of kingship. (Lord. That _bulge_.) Did he _press_ his trousers?

"We all need work, Sarah. Anyway, this world is repressed and prudish about magic. Fearful. One must keep up appearances."

Sarah rolled her eyes, astounded. She would have been less astounded if he'd done his old tricks... turning back time, popping in and out of existence... He lived in an _apartment?_ Considering his castle days, he'd fallen down in the world even more than she.

His shop and apartment were in the next town over, which - as far as Sarah was concerned - meant nothing. The towns, municipalities, were so small... it was all the same, damn thing. He called the shop, "Jareth's"... not much of a stretch, Sarah thought. It was part used book store, including comic books and graphic novels; part antique/junk store and part coffee and tea room. She figured her Java Joes days were coming to an end. For all of that, it wasn't terribly big. There was a resident cat, Oscar, who lounged about in the bookstore section. A lot of the book directory signage was done with a cat theme. (Such as a drawing of a reclining cat in lingerie, reading a book, in the Romance/Erotica section. The sign said "Adult Cats").

"Did you draw these?" Sarah asked, looking at the various, rather well done cartoons.

"I did."

"I didn't know you were artistic."

"Something we have in common." he mused. He'd seen her sketches and little figures done in polymer clay.

"I don't get it. How have you managed this? How is there even any record of you? A credit history? Business license..."

"Oh, magic. Of course."

Sarah leveled her gaze at him. "So you still have magic." Would he put the whammy on her at some point?

"Yes, indeed. It's my trade, Sarah. It's what I know. But I can't very well go about your world, just letting loose with it."

"They do frown on that."

" 'They', my dear? These are your people."

"Hm."

Sarah scooped up Oscar, a yellow tabby whose eyes almost matched his fur. His nose was burnt sienna. "Hello." she said, scratching under his chin. "He's a literary cat." she said to Jareth.

"Well. The bookstore gets the best sun."

Setting Oscar down, she said, "So... You don't look like a goblin."

"Thank you."

She came to sit at one of the tea room tables. Another table held an in-progress game of chess. The pieces were faeries, dwarves; trolls and stately elves.

"You're not a goblin, then?"

Jareth sat with her, and looked generally amused with her. Sarah had the feeling he was playing with her a bit. Toying with words and notions. Allowing her to stumble into idiocy.

"Well... What are you?"

"How rude you are." he smiled. "Who asks that sort of thing?"

"Come on..."

"I've seen your books, my dear. Your many references. You seem reasonably intelligent.... What race do you know of that is rich in magic, poor in bloodlines and accused of stealing children?"

Sarah felt a sort of bubble rise in her chest. It was like happiness, but in an off brand.

"So... you're a faerie."

He smiled his big smile. Yeesh. Run, children. "Don't say it too loud." he said. "I've learned that it has come to mean something a bit different, here. Evidently 'they' frown on that, too."

Surprised, Sarah felt herself blush a little... At the vaguest reference to sexuality?

"Why did you want my brother?"

"I didn't, particularly. You asked me to take him, as I must, sadly, keep reminding you. To rid you of the burden of him."

Sarah wanted to protest, to go though the whole, circular argument again. _You could have just given him back... No, I couldn't, there are rules... What freaking rules? Why these stock, Alice in Wonderland answers of 'that is the way it is done'..... Don't you have authority? Can't you change policy? I wasn't a CEO, Sarah. I was a king in a magical kingdom..._

... And so on. They'd been through it. Still, it riled her, and she felt ready for another round. But customers arrived, tinkling the little bell over the door of Jareth's. Sarah sat back, slack-jawed, stupid with awe, as she watched Jareth greet them and become a barista. He looked jovial. Content.

Freaking faerie.

 


	9. Modern World

It was just after nine p.m., but Sarah was already in bed. In the dark. That was the routine. Muffled from the depths of her purse, she heard her cell phone ring. She ignored it, and the ringing ceased. Then it began again.

Oh.... crap. Maybe it was her dad.

Turning on her bedside lamp, she got up and fished about in her purse.

"Hello?"

"Hello, Sarah."

".... You're calling me on the _phone_?"

He sighed, a weird, fuzzy-echo sound. "I work, I smoke, now I've called you on the phone. I _live_ here, now, Sarah. I've adapted. Roll with it."

 _Roll with it?_ She did a fairly ghetto head-slide. _Oh no he didn't._

"I'm in bed, already, Jareth. I've got work, tomorrow."

"So do I, Granny. The sun barely set an hour ago."

Huffing, she said, "What do you want?"

"I feel so welcome. So well received. Hello, _friend_."

"Jareth..." It was still peculiar to call him by name. She was more accustomed to his title, but she couldn't really call him Goblin King. Mr. King. Yo, G-Dog.

"I just wanted to talk awhile. To say 'hello' and wind down. You know, my dear, for someone who claims to be of this world, you seem sadly unfamiliar with the customs."

He had her, there. "Well," she said, tucking back into bed, "How are you?" She turned out her light. She had noticed that sometimes he got a little technical and wordy... she'd endured a lengthy tour and explanation of every coffee, tea and cooking implement behind the counter. Perhaps he'd talk her to sleep.

"Fine, dear. So kind of you to ask. I had to work late... The manager is a prick."

"I hear that." Sarah smiled in the dark.

"Oh. Clever girl."

Funny. He still referred to her as a 'girl'.

"Are you a pedaphile?" she asked.

There was a gasping, spluttering on the other end... comical, but her question was serious.

"Sarah!"

"Well?"

"Fucking hell." (He said 'fucking'?) "I believe that was even more rude than asking _what_ I am. No. I am not a pedaphile. Thanks _so much_ for asking."

Sarah was quiet, feeling a prickly indignation seep through the phone.

"But then... why did you keep such an eye on me? Why did you, as you like to say, obey my wishes? Reorder time, turn the world upside down; yada, yada, yada."

" 'Yada, yada, yada'? Truly? This is what you've condensed ancient, powerful and largely _lost_ magic down to?"

"Sorry... just... Long story. Much retold. Keeping it short."

He scoffed. Sarah thought he might be wearing the face that didn't suffer idiots. He said, "It's hard to say... at _this_ moment.... why. But I was drawn to you, then. I wanted you to love me. To need me. Actually, I needed it."

So.... it was true.

"Well, then... hell, Jareth. You may need to re-think the pedaphile thing. I was a _child_."

"Stop saying 'pedaphile'. It's vile. I like you less for saying it."

"What would you call it?"

"To begin, dearest, I wasn't looking to bed you. It was your love I wanted. Admiration. The strength of it. It was special that you could be aware of me at all. It meant a great deal. And I might add that it would seem, to the casual observer, that you're still a child."

"Shocking news to me."

He grew quiet. Sarah's bedroom seemed to fill with his sulkiness. She said, "Aren't you glad you called?"

"Oh, yes. I never tire of your abuse. I can tell you're a grown woman beneath all of your infantile posturing, for you've become a right harridan-shrew."

That made Sarah laugh aloud, for some reason. The image of herself that followed was oddly appealing.

"I can't believe you were married." Jareth said.

"No... me neither. But honestly, to do all those things for a teenage girl... It does sound like a bit of a personal issue."

"That's why we're playing with this... friendship... is it not? Working out our personal issues?"

"Is that it?"

There was another silence, surprisingly comfortable. Sarah closed her eyes, listening to the sounds of Jareth slowing down, settling in. It felt comforting, like the rooster. This dynamic, this connection was so different from her previous aloneness. Her previous loss, head full of nameless ghosts.

Curiosity in his voice, Jareth asked, "What do you sleep in, Sarah?"

Her eyes opened. "Are you kidding me with this?"

Soft chuckle, a little too intimate. Soft breath, What was he _doing?_

"I just wondered. Years ago I would have thought you floated about in a ghostly, white nightgown of soft cotton and lace. Something in which to wander windy moors, and then fall victim to melancholy. But now... seeing as you're an embittered gorgon... Well. I couldn't quite picture it."

"Really."

"Mmm."

"I sleep in dragon-hide, on a nest of baby snakes."

"So... it's just as I suspected."

In spite of herself, Sarah was curious. "What do you sleep in?"

" _Oh_..." Jeez, his voice. The bemused under-growl, curling ever inward. "Me, I've always slept naked."

"Goodnight, Jareth."

Another chuckle. "Goodnight, Sarah."

　

 


	10. Prophesy

"Why didn't you love me, back then? You _called_ me... you were aware of me, in spite of the division of worlds. Do you have any notion of how rare that is?"

Sarah sighed.

His place was really more comfortable, with it's T.V. and big, street-facing windows. A quick run downstairs, should one need a cafe au lait. It was more grown up... It's coziness was a grown up coziness, made of overstuffed furniture in autumn tones. Not even one throne, though.

But they kept winding up at her place, where the relative coziness was hovel chic. A childish, faerie-tale coziness. She missed his T.V. Here, he felt more free to talk.

"I was fifteen. What did I know?"

"The fifteen year old girls, here, seem to know a _lot_. Alarmingly."

"Oh, okay, My Sharona."

"Ugh... _Hagatha_."

He'd taken to calling her that... Hagatha. She liked it, though she couldn't say why. Maybe the throw-back to "Bewitched". Each time he referenced her age or curmudgeon ways, it seemed to please, rather than insult her. It seemed to please him as well.

She had a love seat rather than a proper couch, as befits small hovels. There was also a recliner, donated from her father's basement, but Jareth always sat with her on the love seat. He sat like a grown person, feet on the floor, head turned to her. Sarah sat like a kid; facing him, feet on the cushion, hugging her knees. Would some patterns never change?

"I was a very young fifteen."

"You're _still_ a young.... whatever your incredible age is."

Smiling, Sarah said, "Immature, you mean."

"Young."

"Hmm." She sipped her tea. "Well, you knew me... at least a little. My head wasn't _here_. I didn't have a connection to boys... nothing real. I was all about faerie tales, fantasy... at that age, I didn't believe I belonged here. I thought maybe I was a changeling."

His eyes flickered. She should have known better than to say the C-word.

"In fact, " she said, "I thought I _did_ love you, before I understood that you were real. I also thought I invented you... which made you fairly safe. What I loved, Jareth, was being special... That play-story where, magically, a powerful being takes notice of me because I'm special; chosen. Or because he comes from a place where I belong... like finding one's true home. True family."

"... But... those things _happened_."

"Well. You arrived. And you were so mean. Then I realized what I'd done to my brother... What could I do but fight for him?"

"You could have forgotten him. You could have fallen in love with me, and found your true family." When she gave a dry look, he said, "Well... It _was_ a choice."

He looked so sad. He was _pouting_. She knew he could manipulate this way... He'd probably been one of those pretty, _eyelash_ sort of boys, who could get grown women to give him anything. Girls to forgive him anything. Still... she felt it working on her. She reached out a bare foot and nudged his hip with her toes.

"Buck up, G.K."

He put his hand on her bare foot, and she tried not to flinch. She was unused to touch. And it was _him_.

"Why did you want me to love you?"

Looking at her, so pale, with those mismatched eyes, he said, "If I say, you'll just go all fishwife on me." Sarah raised a brow, and he said, "You know... 'Oh, so you're saying it's my fault. Well, let me tell _you_ something, mister'.... That sort of thing. It must be the adult version of you, stomping your foot and saying, _'It's not fair_!' " His voice was briefly falsetto, making Sarah cringe at the imitation. "Your sense of justice is easily riled, my dear."

"Hm. Try me."

"Alright. You wanted to feel special. Chosen. There's this, then. In my world there was a story, thought to be a prophesy, about a girl from this world who would save faerie."

It was irritating, how he seemed to know her... when no one else did. He'd barely begun, and she was already bristling inside, annoyed with the notion that she could somehow be held responsible for ruining lives. She'd been busy with divorced parents, an estranged mother, a _step-mother_ , a brother.... _algebra_. She'd been busy trying to escape all of it. How could the fate of a kingdom, or a _race_ rest on her shoulders?

She breathed in deeply through her nose, refraining from spewing out all of her defenses.

Jareth said, "It was an old story.... Faerie had been dying out for ages. I took your brother simply to fulfill a magical contract, but in my homeland, human children were sometimes taken... to help strengthen the bloodline. Sometimes a pregnant human was stolen, both for the child to come, and to nurse our young."

"... Jeez. Nice.... Why was the bloodline so weak?"

"Belief." Jareth looked down to where his hand rested on her foot. He squeezed, a warm pressure. "You've read it, in your stories. I've even seen it on television... Some stories, ideas must cross worlds; take root.

"Faerie is a magical race. Magic has it's own rules, ways of being, and takes nourishment. A large part of that nourishment is belief... others believing in, feeding the magic. As belief faded, as faerie receded more and more from the world, the race began to die out. The people didn't conceive easily. Babies were born weak. Or already old."

Sarah's belly had a small tremble. She was vulnerable to this sort of story... it gave her the same feeling as when she tried to get rid of her toys. Abandonment. Those forgotten. She even felt bad for the Neanderthals.

Every stinking time she watched E.T., she cried when Gertie and her mother read Peter Pan, clapping in earnest to save Tinkerbell's life. Through belief. She felt an idiot, but she cried.

For the lost. The lonely. The ones no one cared about; as loud, robust, insensitive human life plowed on and on.

"The final blow really was Christianity." Jareth said. "It thrived through the power of belief, yet there was simply no place in it for the Fae.... It took over much of our native land, so instead of having strongholds in the British Isles, Northern Europe; we became _within_ it. Parallel, in a sense. Those of us, like myself, schooled in magic, working to keep it alive, could see between worlds."

"Your eye."

"Yes."

"You saw me."

"I did, though not until you called me. The old story told of a human girl, whose belief in faerie is so innate, her voice reaches a prince over the division of worlds. He wins her love, and her belief - the strength of it , the nourishment - opens a way between the worlds, so others may see and believe. It is, as is said, the Dawn of a New Age. I thought you were that girl, Sarah, because I _heard_ you. Because you seemed to need me."

The tremble had moved into Sarah's chest, making her breathing shallow. She couldn't look at Jareth, her defenses crumbling. A sadness welled inside of her.

"But I wasn't." she said, quietly. "I was just a self-centered, teenage girl. Alone. Hurting... wishing to be seen."

Squeezing her foot again, Jareth said, "No one was that girl, Sarah. It was only a story. A wish."

"Maybe she's still out there."

For awhile, Jareth didn't speak, and Sarah became aware of outside sounds. A whippoorwill, distant in the woods. A woodpecker drumming, blue jays fussing and settling down in the dusk.

Finally, he said, "No, she's not, love. Faerie is gone. It's just me, now."

Sarah stared at his elegant profile, a part of herself seeming to hang in an endless, painful suspense. Then she inhaled, a shuddering, broken breath. She covered her face with her hands and sobbed.

 


	11. Personal Issues

It threw Sarah into a depression. A backslide. Another one. The heaviness of depression, hand in hand with the heart-racing, jumbled thought, darkening vision of anxiety.

She couldn't bear it.

The thing was, she _knew_ she was the girl. In the story. It wasn't about ego, specialness. She had no magic and she wasn't strong. She was the weakest, most delayed person she knew.

It was about belief. She had it... she had it in spades, even when she tried not to. She was the girl; he'd heard her call, and she'd let faerie die.

Moroseness was taking over her life. She'd called in sick to work, staying huddled in her bed. What was the point? She didn't have to wonder anymore... She knew there were other worlds. She knew magic was real. How could she pretend that this world's mad race for success meant anything to her? Let them find her, starved to death in her bed, mailbox stuffed full of bills.

... The dreams were problematic, however, arriving as they did with sleep. The routine and structure that kept them at bay were interrupted, in disarray. Why try and block out the ghosts? They were there; they'd been shouting at her all of this time.

 _You abandoned us_.

It felt stupid to her that all of her references, her connections were fiction. Books, movies. But that was her... Her big contribution to this world that pressured and harassed her, so; but in which she didn't belong. Image. Dream. Memory in image and feeling.

She knew she was the girl, because there was a repeating theme in the stories she read and the movies she watched. In so much of what she was drawn to. One of her favorites, "Dragonslayer", was all about it... Magic, dying out in the world. How Sarah bristled at the end, the last of the dragons... and old wizards... gone. And who should arrive to take credit but, first, a newly Christian cleric, and then a king. Religion and politics, as always. But the truth, the heart was magic.

Where was Galen now, smiling a big, goofy smile as the white horse of hope appears? Where was her little opening; her loophole?

Another one, a television production of "Merlin", cheesy though it sometimes was, had stayed with her. The writers had made off with Shakespeare's Queen Mab, and had given her a wholly invented, gnome-like, goblin apprentice and servant, Frick. A Queen of Fae, Mab was a villain. One had only to look at her wardrobe. But her plotting and scheming and frantic, hurtful meddling were all done in the name of saving her kind. Saving magic.

Oh, it was all too familiar.

In the end, Sarah couldn't stand it.... she couldn't _stand_ it when Mab was banished, faded into nothingness by lack of belief. People, even her little Frick, turned their backs on her, pretending she wasn't there. Many embracing the new religion.

Sarah lived in the Bible Belt... she was aware that part of her complete lack of a social life was that she was not a member of a congregation. Even if she didn't live in such a gospel saturated place, however, she wasn't about to go around, bashing Christianity. For, to her, it wasn't so much the inclusion of one thing as it was the exclusion of another.

But it wasn't only Christianity... it was just the way the world was. Christianity might have been the beginning of the end of magic, but other things.... science, technology, the fast pace and attention deficit all around... these things kept magic weak.

She had believed in Santa Claus for an embarrassingly long time. The one time she'd ever been sent to the principal's office was when she'd argued in defense of Santa Claus, in the second grade. She remembered standing on the seat of her little wooded desk, shouting to be heard. The groove in the desk that held her pencil.... everything smelling of wood shavings, number 2 lead, soft, pulpy paper and chalk.

After that, she'd confirmed the truth of the gift giving situation with her parents. But she still couldn't give up. She'd made an agreement with them to pretend. "Let's just pretend it's all real. Okay?" And even now, she couldn't make herself _say_ that she didn't believe. She accepted the massive world of commerce, kids telling their parents, essentially, what to buy them for Christmas. She accepted the other side of it; the celebration of the birth of Christ.

But to say she didn't believe was like stepping on a crack when her mother's back was at stake. It was like _not_ clapping for Tinkerbell.

Because... he might be real. Maybe he wasn't the Jolly Old Elf in his Coca Cola costume, but - perhaps with origins more wild and ancient than anyone could imagine - he might be real. She couldn't live with herself if she was like the people in "Merlin". She couldn't turn her back on the Old Ones, the Old Ways. On magic.

And yet, she had.

 


	12. Friends

Sarah stopped hearing her phone long before the batteries ran down. It was harder to ignore the door. Nobody's home, she thought, covering her head with her pillow.

For all that she was drowning in the guilt and hopelessness of her life; all to do with magic; she'd sort of forgotten that Jareth _had_ magic. He knocked on the door in the beginning, like any old human. But when she didn't answer, lickedy-split, abracadabra, he was in.

He strolled casually into her bedroom; she felt him sit on the edge of her bad, beside her. He lifted her covers.

"So... _this_ is what you sleep in."

Sarah thought of the juvenile, mismatched picture she made: paisley boxer shorts, a black, Emily Strange tee-shirt, (Leave Meow Alone), and a blue-green, plaid, flannel shirt, worn as a robe. Yes, this was what she slept in. Huddled. Hid.

"Pervert." she said from under the pillow.

He took the pillow away, and she was a little surprised to find that she cared about her appearance. She wished he wasn't seeing her this way... At her present age, pillow creases that pressed into her face remained evident until midday.

"Hagatha, darling. How much work have you missed?"

"What day is it?"

"Saturday."

"Three days, then. They'll forgive me. If I go back."

"Hmm."

He began _touching_ her. Sarah didn't know how to handle it, his touch. No one ever touched her, really. It had been strange when he touched her foot... now his hand was on her back, up under her tee-shirt. It was warm, firmly caressing and made big circles. Something about it made her feel like she might start crying again.

He said, "You could come work for me. I might like that... being your boss. Telling you what to do, managing your time." He certainly did sound entertained by the idea.

Still curled on her side, processing the feeling of his touch, Sarah said, "What would you pay me in? Magic beans?"

" _Oh_. There's my little gorgon. I was afraid I'd lost you."

"You'd be better off."

At that, he leaned down and kissed her cheek. Sarah stopped breathing for a moment. If his hand was a new and somewhat difficult concept, his mouth; his lips were beyond her ability to comprehend.

"I _wouldn't_." he whispered, the whisper fierce. He repeated it. "I _wouldn't_."

Sarah closed her eyes. Everything about him.... this dethroned Fae King of Goblins, now a peculiar, weirdly sweet barista... was making her need to cry. And she didn't want to. Her head was already thick and hurting from tears. She didn't want to cry anymore, even if her body seemed to demand it.

If only he would stop touching her.

Maybe he read her thoughts, for he said, "You're not used to this, are you. You've forgotten about touch."

No point in questioning this. She just nodded. It wasn't always that way... Once, she was a hugger. But things changed... in her friendless world, work acquaintances held at a distance; so long estranged from her ex-husband that sex seemed like a purely fictional idea; and her strained relationship with her family.... The brief, non-embracing hug with her dad; the awkward nod to her step-mother... Yes. She'd forgotten how touch worked.

It was a powerful thing, it turned out. Jareth's hand soothing her, the warmth of his body so near, his weight on the bed... Sarah couldn't believe that she'd once taken touch for granted.

"Is there magic in it?" she asked.

She meant; was he using magic on her? But he said, "There's always magic in touch. That's the power you feel."

"What if you don't want to be touched? If the touch is offensive."

Considering, Jareth frowned. He said, "Well, that's powerful, too. Though in the negative. Dark magic, you could say. Powerful, because even if you block it from your mind, your body remembers."

His hand stopped moving on her back. "Are you saying you don't want me to touch you?"

Sarah shook her head; no. The warm, circular stroking resumed, and she began to understand that it felt almost _maternal_. That's what was hard to bear... the caring. The kindness.

"Why don't you hate me?" she asked. "You were mean enough, once. Why don't you blame me?"

She watched him toe off his shoes... pointy toed, lace up Oxfords that never failed to amuse her, deep brown. The socks beneath were a multi-colored stripe. He was so _spiffy_ in this world. She still saw _Jareth_ ; awash in magic, eyes as distant moons, commanding time and physics, travelling as an owl.

But she imagined that those who came into his shop saw a clean cut, slightly eccentric, nattily dressed British dude.

She held her breath as he climbed over her, then spooned up to her back. His arm came around her, holding her close. She was about to O.D. on touch, closeness. She tried to think of when she'd last been held so securely, so safe.... and she couldn't remember. It had probably been at least ten years ago.

He said, "Sarah... you and I are on different tracks of time. When you think on the Labyrinth, you're the child. But, for my kind, I was very young, then. _Very_ immature. Think of giving a kingdom to a sixteen year old boy, and telling him he's in charge."

Sarah glanced back at him, which brought her even closer. He was warm shelter into which she huddled.

"Really?"

"Really. All of that bravado and meanness... the showing off and pushing you around... the threats... I thought that's how one went about obtaining a woman."

Sarah couldn't help it; she laughed. _Fear me, love me... do as I say, and I will be your slave._

Jareth said, "I can see more clearly, now. I'm older, and then there's living _here_. It changes one's perspective considerably. My dear, I _know_ you couldn't have abandoned your brother. I did want you to... Sometimes I still wish it had happened. But I see that it was never an option for you.... Even if the baby hadn't been related to you, you would not have been able to sacrifice it."

With a sigh, Sarah thought - it's probably true. She was damned either way. Save faerie at the expense of a child... save the child, lose a _race_?

"I never meant to make you feel this way, telling you what I did. For me, back then, it was a gamble. You were a voice in the darkness, and I thought.... maybe. Maybe this is her. So I endeavored to fulfill my contract with you, initiated by your words. It doesn't mean you were a prophesied savior, Sarah."

Tears pricked her eyes, again. It seemed so overblown, so braggadocious to insist that she was meant to be a _savior_. But she couldn't shake the feeling that she'd taken a misstep. She'd turned her back... and the world was gone. And then she'd lost even herself.

Jareth folded himself around Sarah so completely, he was almost laying on her. Sarah felt his forehead pressed to her shoulder, she felt herself gathered up. His voice, the quiet soft growl... the whisper of ghost over baritone; he said, "Don't leave me, Sarah. You're my only friend."

 


	13. Revelry

She'd pulled herself together, but was still something of a shell. It had been such an abrupt U-turn.... She'd gone from blaming Jareth for her lack of life, to feeling like Judas. A betrayer. All after having forgotten... everything. Her insides were hollowed, her bones felt frail. Lacking marrow. She hunched in her sweater like an old woman.

Jareth considered her, fingers stroking his chin. She sat at one of the tea tables in his shop and pet Oscar.

"Do you know what faeries _love?"_ he asked her.

"What?"

" _Dancing_." He strode behind the counter to his super-deluxe, much described and discussed sound system. He was such a dork.

Sarah expected to hear something waltz-like, but instead, suddenly, "Missionary Man" by The Eurythmics came blaring, too loud for the small space. Oscar gave Sarah a startled, apologetic look and fled.

Jareth _boogied_ his way back to her, all shoulder shimmy and booty shake, singing along with a serious face. He held his hand out in invitation, and Sarah shook her head, _no_ ; smiling lopsidedly at his bump and grind.

The song was boisterous, rhythmic; pounding at it's exaggerated volume. Jareth was comically infected, and he refused her refusal. He pulled her from her chair, held onto her as she protested and shrieked, and flung her about with his wild gyrations.

Customers came in the store. Jareth waved to them over the noise; they gave uncertain smiles. But he didn't stop dancing and singing, holding onto Sarah and whirling her about. His eyes gleamed.

He lowered the volume when the song ended... Next up was "Black Balloon" by The Kills, a very different mood. A mood Sarah could relate to... _Farewell my black balloon... let the weather have it's way with you._ She sat down again, breathless in her early onset decrepitude, and listened to the song. Part of her, she knew, was still far away. She worked, she made the effort of life. She'd reinstated her routine... But she wasn't quite _here_. She was like the people described in faerie-tales... those who return their own world, but part of them stayed behind. They were hollow, and began to fade away. Death by melancholy, like in the good ol' days.

As the customers left, the song changed to "Lavinia" by The Veils. Sweeping and lush; still rather sad. She liked Jareth's taste in music... which, really, was all over the place. He was both a bebopper and a hip-hopper. He gushed to her like a teenager over music, saying how much he loved the music here... it was one of the reasons he'd stayed.

He returned to her, smiling in a wicked way. He'd brought her a cafe au lait, and sat it down before her.

Abruptly, he fell to his knees beside her chair, and held her arm; one hand holding hers, the other supporting her upper arm. He kissed from her fingertips to her shoulder, a long path of little kisses, while Sarah watched his amorous approach with amused, somewhat worried amazement. When he reached her shoulder, he smiled his enormous, fangy, skeleton-man smile.... Which, as it turned out, was the perfect, maniacal Gomez Adams. He said, _"Oh, Morticia."_

 


	14. Sex Talk 1

"Well, when did you last have it?" Jareth asked. Sex, he meant. Sarah, while loathe to discuss her nun-like state of being, was fairly curious about Jareth. She was trying to roll with it, as he said, so as to learn more about him.

... But she had to ponder for a moment. There was math involved. She worried at her lip, then offered, "Maybe 2007?"

"..... _Nine_ years ago?"

"I think."

_"Nine??"_

Blushing, Sarah said, "My ex-husband and I... I don't know why we waited so long to divorce. We moved into separate bedrooms sometime around 2007... the sex had stopped before then. Then we lived in different states, once I'd moved here. The divorce came later."

_"Why?"_

"Why the divorce?"

He looked almost pained. He rolled his eyes with great exaggeration, looking more appalled than Sarah had yet seen, and said, " _No_. Why have you not had a lover? There are other men in the world, besides the one you took in and then discarded."

Sarah wrinkled her nose. 'Took in and discarded' didn't really sum it for her, but she let it pass. With a shrug, she said, "I don't know.... It just hasn't come about. You see how good I am with people."

"Oh, darling. I've been calling you a scold for all of the wrong reasons. Of _course_ you'd be in a foul mood."

"You think that's it?"

" _Nine_ years? Jesus H."

Sarah's eyes widened a bit at the J-word, and Jareth, lighting a cigarette, squinted and said, "I can't very well embrace Christianity... But it's okay to blaspheme."

Sarah watched the weirdly sexy, offhand way he blew smoke from the side of his mouth, watching her. "So...." she tried to control her blush, heating up as she considered that he might have a sex life, "What.... You're just rolling in it, then? A woman every night? A girl in every port?"

It was interesting, the way his cheeks hollowed and his brow grew serious as he pulled on the cigarette. He rolled his own... the scent was a little sweet-hot, along with burning paper. Cured, leathery green.

Blowing out smoke, he said, "Not of late. I've had my hands full, looking after you. You're enormously burdensome."

"I see. Before that?"

He frowned. "Perhaps not a woman every night. But - yes - there have been women. A few men."

_"What?"_

This threw Sarah completely. Men? And... The Goblin King? _Her_ Goblin King?

His face was amused. Smoke puffed from his lips with his soft chuckle. His eyes crinkled at the corners in a merry way. Pointing the glow of his cigarette at her, he said, "You people are such prudes. It doesn't stop with magic." With what seemed to be a rather rude, but unfamiliar finger gesture, he added, " _Up_ tight."

"Americans?"

"Well, yes. But I meant humans."

This was a readjustment. Jealousy, that she internally argued against, had bubbled up at the idea of Jareth being a Casanova about town. She hoped it was with one of the hairy legged, earthy women who had those ear piercings that made giant, tribal holes in the lobe.

But men? It didn't exactly negate the jealousy, but neither did she know what to do with it. Either way, she was coming to a definite realization that she felt possessive of him. ( _He heard my voice across worlds_ , she would tell his random bedmates. _What's your connection_?)

"Jesus H." she said. He smiled.

"It bothers you, does it?"

Sarah shrugged. It was hard to say. Maybe she regretted her curiosity on the matter, and was ready to go back to being his enormous burden.

"I just... didn't know you were bisexual."

"I would say I'm _sexual_." Jareth said, his voice dropping down. It gave Sarah shivers... another rabbit visiting her grave. It wasn't unpleasant. "But that's faerie. Dancing, parties, sex... All fine things in the eyes of the Fae."

"So... you're like teenagers. Or the Roman Empire."

His quirky, amused mouth turned down at the corners. "In ways. Back in the days of eliminating us from the world, that was part of the rhetoric. Our corruption. Our amoral philosophies... our potential to infect others with the same. The fall of a corrupt society." Putting out the cigarette, he said, "Maybe the bastards were right."

Sarah shook her head, negating. But she didn't say anything. She was remembering... There was a dance. It was a difficult memory, because it seemed real, like something that had happened. And yet... she was pretty sure it was a vision, a dream. He'd once slipped her a magic Ruffie...

At the dance - in the dream - it wasn't goblins in attendance. It was _others_ , like Jareth. Though it wasn't clear, now, she remembered becoming afraid.... her younger self encountering things way beyond her maturity level. Those people, the Fae? _had_ seemed corrupt.... She'd had the sense that she should really bail, before an orgy or something broke out. But the way they'd _looked_ , leered at her... and he'd let them. They ways they'd touched one another, and some had touched _him_... She'd felt like she was in danger of being presented to the room at large, naked... on a platter, like a whole, roasted pig. Surrounded by fruit and flowers.

The tameness of her "real life" washed over her. It hadn't always been so, but... boy... had she ever made it so. Twenty plus years of working in a field that was pretty much all women. Keeping to herself, shutting down. When she'd suppressed her memory, as if conserving energy, she'd shut down _so much_ of herself. She supposed that included sex.

"Corrupt or not," Jareth said, "I can't understand why you would abstain, so. Don't you miss it? Don't you ever need it?"

"I have a vibrator." Sarah said. It just blurted out before self censorship kicked in. Her blood responded to her mortification.

Grinning broadly, Jareth said, "Do tell."

"Well." Yowza. The blush _hurt_. "That's really all there is to tell. It's there if I need it."

"How often is that, Morticia?"

"... Like, maybe once a month? There's a hormonal peak, or something."

" _Once a month_?" It seemed almost as bad as nine years. "Tish! I could do it every _day_. Where is your sexuality?"

Good question.

"I'm not very good at it." Sarah said, uncomfortable. "Sex, I mean."

Jareth smiled again, and said, "I could help you with that, love. I'm _very_ good."

Sarah rolled her eyes with a _pft_. "Says who?"

"Well, me, for one. It happens to be the truth. I was royalty in my world, you know. I was schooled in sex. I had a tutor. Lessons."

"Really? Like in a classroom?"

"No. Like in a bedroom. My bedroom. A royal concubine was assigned to teach the young prince the various arts of pleasing women."

"And... men?"

Leveling his eyes to hers, he said, "No. She didn't teach me about that. I learned it on my own, along the way."

It was something to contemplate. A learned man, one could say.

"Too bad she didn't teach you how _not_ to be a dick to young girls."

"It _is_ too bad, Hagatha. Things might have worked out differently. In her defense, it is true that faerie women liked a certain amount of _dick-ness_. Cockiness. Especially in matters of sex. Where you bolted, they would have been intrigued."

"Hm. Sorry for the misfire."

The conversation was taking place in Jareth's living room, sun streaming in the windows, beams of it trapping swirling dust motes, like rays of faerie dust. It made Sarah feel lazy. Warm and comfortable.

Serpentine, Jareth moved from his big, soft-cushioned chair of an autumn leaf pattern, and more or less _crawled_ over the cushions of the brick-red couch, coming to settle close to Sarah.

"About this deficiency of sexual competence." he grinned.

Blushing again, Sarah said, "Shut up. We're not like that, G-Dubs."

He rubbed his head against her like a cat; silky, pale hair at her shoulder, warm from the sun. He smelled like sunshine. He looked at her with mismatched eyes.

" _Nine_ years, love? A vibrator? I could make it _so_ much better... I could teach you."

" _Jareth_."

Sarah squirmed. She was still getting used to his touch. His hugs, dancing... he played with her hands and stroked her hair. And she liked it, all of it. She allowed more and more of it. But it jangled her nerves... it was unsettling.

He was insistent in his animal crawl and nuzzle. He cuddled against her, invading her space. Sarah moved with him, trying to work the situation into the relative innocence of a hug, a playful wrestle. But then his mouth was open, kissing at her jaw, near her ear.

Sarah sucked in her breath; a sharp, pleasure-pain shooting through her body. A feeling of being painfully wakeful, short of breath, restless at the hips. She couldn't handle the unknown future of it, and shoved him back.

"Stop it." she muttered the words.

He complied, sitting back, watching her. Sarah took in his mussed hair and flushed cheeks... even a blush at his lips. He realized she was breathing hard, as was he. He _wanted_ her. She felt shocked by the idea.

"You'd feel better for it." he observed.

She stared down at her lap, and his hand came to trace circles around her knee.

"Just let me please you. " he said, softly. "I want to, so badly. I wouldn't even undress."

"Jareth." Sarah's eyes flashed. "We're friends."

"We can still be friends." His fingers did a delicate walk up her thigh, his eyes never leaving hers.

She captured the wayward hand in hers, throat thick with longing. But there was yet _herself_ to overcome.

"I can't." she said.

　

 


	15. Sex Talk 2

"Hello?" Sarah was becoming accustomed to the ring of her phone, when she already in bed. In the dark. Okay, there was still the faintest streak of twilight seeping in through her blinds, but it was getting to that time of year when the sun set at 9pm. For crying out loud.

"Morticia."

"G-Dog. What up?"

"I can't stop thinking about it."

She knew. To what he referred... To the inability to _not_ think on it. But for conversation's sake, she asked, "What?"

"What. Your sexual incompetence. Your female erectile dysfunction. I feel you've set a challenge before me, and I must answer with a vigor."

".... Well.... that's the sweetest thing...."

"Sarcasm?"

"You're asking? You're the king of sarcasm. And goblins."

"Not anymore." _Growl._

"Oh. Right."

" _You_ took care of that."

"I.... Oh. So, about my sexual incompetence..."

Jareth laughed, a rich sound. Sarah had always thought it rich. When she was a girl, it had seemed sinister in a way that confused her senses. Now she was finding it sexy, which was also confusing.

"It's handy to have a topic that makes you even more uncomfortable than sex."

Sighing, Sarah said, "Oh, there's probably more than one. I didn't, by the way, set a challenge."

"Well. Then why do I feel challenged?"

"Because you're a big dork. Who says 'vigor'."

There was a pause, a digesting, silent moment. Then Jareth asked, "What's wrong with 'vigor'?"

"You see... that you don't know is what makes you a dork."

"Oh.... Morticia. Just _listen_ to yourself. All of that shrewish harping and criticism. Sweetheart, you need it so badly."

"And by 'it', you mean - "

"Sex. _Cock_. I would prefer you make use of mine."

Though in the dark, Sarah thought she went blind for a moment. Or her heart stopped. Alarming things were happening in her body, causing blindness and breathlessness, episodes of chest pain. A cardiac work-up crossed her mind.

"Hello?" Jareth prompted. "Sarah... did I make you swoon?"

" _No_."

"Ah. I've offended you, then."

Sarah.... wasn't sure. She wasn't offended, she didn't think. Actually, she was curious, her curiosity a thing that was growing daily. She tried to remember those _tights_ he wore, the great poof. Was she imagining the bulge with which he pranced about? Who _dressed_ like that?

"I don't know." she said.

"Uncertainty." Jareth said, and Sarah could hear that he was pleased. "The mark of a woman on the verge."

With a snort, Sarah said, "Sure... but on the verge of what? Madness? Homicide? One dozen doughnuts for one?"

"Sarah, Sarah..."

She couldn't help it, she heard, _turn back, Sarah... turn back before it's too late..._

"Are you in your usual sleep ensemble?"

"Pretty much. Pervert."

"I've heard people around here say 'prevert'. I like it... it's like a preemptive tactic against the vert. It _negates_ the vert."

"Were you always like this? Did I tremble before _this_?"

" _Well_..." It sounded as if Jareth stretched, a luxurious, purring sound. Sarah wondered if _he_ was in his usual sleep ensemble. "I kept a great deal buried in my kingly days. But, yes, I think I was more or less like this. I could never get the goblins to laugh at the right lines."

"I seem to recall a general enjoyment of fart humor."

"Mm. It's popularity crosses all worlds."

"Jareth... Are you naked?"

" _Ohhh_. You _are_ a woman on the verge. Pervert."

"It is what it is, yo."

"Were _you_ always like this? Is _this_ the voice I heard across dimensions?"

"I don't know. I forgot. Remember?"

She heard Jareth sigh, and then he said, " I've never had so much trouble with a woman.... I can't even stay on track. You thwarted me as a girl, and you're doing it again, now. With _words_."

"... Well... We're talking. With words."

" _That's_ what I mean; right there. You spew out your dry, gorgon observations and literalisms, and I get trapped in these circular conversations because I'm a bleeding _faerie_ , and I must follow the words where they go. And I lose sight of the fact that I called to seduce you."

Sarah burst into laughter, holding the phone away for a moment.

"And she laughs." Jareth said, when she returned.

"Well, I'm no expert on seduction," Sarah said, "But I don't think that was it. And by the way, blaming me for your failed seduction is like having to explain a joke, after the telling." She laughed again.

"Oh. Look. My balls have disappeared."

"You're killing me." Sarah said, mirthful.

When she settled down, Jareth said, "To answer your question, Morticia; yes, I'm naked. You should know, as you're a woman on the verge, I have a big cock."

"But, sadly, no balls."

"No... I'm not taking your witch-bait."

"Are _you_ experiencing the heartbreak of ballessness? You've been abandoned by your balls; Now what? Allstate can help."

"That's it. I'm coming over."

"What? _Wait_..."

But the line was dead, his number disappeared from her phone.

" _Crap_."

 


	16. A Visit After Dark

There was no real point in trying to change her pattern of sleepwear... He'd seen it all during the Return of the Depression. And it wasn't as if she had a lacy negligee tucked away somewhere. Or pajamas that matched.

Sarah stared at herself in the bedroom mirror. Back in her thirties, she'd made a comment to step-mother about seeing the aging process around her eyes. People were always thinking that she was younger than her age, and she'd anticipated her step-mother saying something reassuring, along those lines. Instead, she'd said, "Don't focus on the mirror, dear. On checking for signs of aging. There's no future in it."

Sarah's initial reaction was to think, _bitch_. But she'd come to appreciate it over the years. It was, perhaps, the most sound piece of advise her step-mother had ever given her, and she'd even said it with humor.

And so Sarah hadn't really _looked_... beyond the cursory check that everything was in place; no boogers hanging out of her face, fly zipped, etc. It was unfamiliar territory, now, to assess herself. To wonder what Jareth saw, he who'd hoped to woo her as a dewy teenager.

People still guessed her at five to ten years younger than her age, but Sarah could see the changes. She was disturbed by her neck, which didn't yet have crepey, old lady skin... but she could tell that it was coming. Get ready, people. Her hair was still dark; she'd worn it for years in an almost shoulder length, inverted bob, easier than her long hair. Also, as her baby fat melted into something more contoured, it seemed to her that her face was too freaking long. A long, melancholy gaze, harangued by gravity. The shorter hair seemed to balance it out.

Some things were the same... her eyes, large and a little cat-like, a shade of green that was sometimes so clear, and sometimes a touch hazel.... Her unruly eyebrows, that she tried to smooth down into something civilized.

Her tee-shirt was a gothic Hello Kitty.

She abandoned the mirror. Whatever Jareth would see, he'd seen it for a good while, now. On second thought, she returned to the bathroom and brushed her teeth.

She paced. She hated this feeling.... being awash in anticipation wasn't that different from a panic attack. Her pulse annoyed her by making itself known; the beating of her heart did the same. These autonomous things... why didn't they just get on with it, in their usual, unobtrusive manner?

Though she watched the clock, she still jumped at the knock at the door. Probably a heart arrhythmia manifested. When she opened the door, Jareth didn't look much better off than herself. It cheered her, a little.

"Hagatha."

"G.K."

She let him in, watching him rake his long fingers through his hair. He looked stressed out, ragged and paranoid about the eyes. He smoked a cigarette, and Sarah found herself considering the broadness of his mouth, a sweep of sensuality in a face that was all planes and angles.

He wore grey sweatpants. This was unanticipated, after so long of seeing him as such a clotheshorse. He attributed his dapperness, his wild socks, his vests and interesting color choices to his faerie origin. But here he was; plain, white Tee, grey sweats, unlaced sneakers with no socks that he toed off upon entering the hovel. Sarah stared at his feet; long, bony, naked things.

"I can't take much more of this." he told her.

Sarah closed the door, and retreated to her bedroom. Maybe not the best choice. Jareth followed, puppy-like. She sat, propped against her pillows, arms around her knees. He sat on the bed, facing her, close. Clearly agitated, fidgeting, he said, ".... _Come on_..." A bit of a whine.

"I can't believe you." Sarah said. Dropping her voice to mimic his, she said, " 'I've been tutored. I'm _good_.' Is _this_ what you learned?"

His hand went through his hair, again. It fell right back down, hanging about his eyes.

"I'm _skilled_." he said. "I understand a woman's body, which you would realize if I could get you naked and just a little compliant. But _this_... trying to get you out of your harridan state. I don't know what to do."

He was taking the challenge seriously, Sarah thought. "What have you done with other women?" she asked, curious.

Hand splayed on his chest, eyes rather wide, Jareth said, "They came to _me_."

Sarah eyes rolled with derision, but Jareth insisted, "It's true. They _always_ came to me. Women just fell in my lap, often literally. And then they wrote sonnets about it. They sent gifts." With a sigh, he added, "It was grand."

"Well.... dang. I'm sorry if you've hit a dry spell."

"I _haven't_. I get the same looks... I could act on them if I chose. Today a woman on the arm of her _husband_ gave me the look."

Ugh. Sarah felt ill. Her reluctance, her hesitation and _harridan state_ were not mixing well with the new possessiveness she felt. Then a new thought hit.

"Are you just... horny?"

She squirmed a bit under his narrow gaze.

"Not at this _exact_ moment."

Aiming for clarity, Sarah said, "I mean, if I've somehow kept you from your _rich_ love life; the _numerous_ women falling into your bed; are you here just because you're... pent up?"

"Well, yes. But.... no. I want to _please_ you. I want to break through to you. I want you to be pleased with me."

Honestly, Sarah said, "I am pleased with you."

He looked rather relieved at that, his body visibly relaxing. It interested Sarah. It was such a simple thing, all those years ago, to defeat him with the words... _You have no power over me._ Words she couldn't even remember until the exact moment she knew they were true. Since re-awakening to him, she wondered if the words really _were_ true. Her forgetfulness, her isolation... even the fact that she'd never had children... she wondered if it was evidence that he had some measure of power over her.

But now... she was feeling a measure of her power over _him_.

He reclined on his side, gazing at her and encircling her ankle with a warm hand. "How do I please you?" he smiled. He was a shameless glutton when it came to the stroking of his ego. His eyes, the curl of his lips, said _tell me, tell me..._

Sarah felt distracted, as she often did, by his nearness, his touch. But also, now, so much of his pale body. She could see his arms nearly up to shoulder... bony ankles and bare feet, the deep V of his Tee-shirt, an alarming sweep of flesh, dipping in deeply at the waist, where the Tee rode up. His sweatpants, loose, scooched down a little, just over a hipbone.

"You please me just by existing." she said. "You please me when you're playful with words, with speech... You said, earlier, that's a faerie thing?"

With an eye-roll, Jareth said, "Yes. Like a dog with a bone. We hear nuances, meanings behind meanings, jokes... whatever. We can't let it go. We must play and play, to the bitter end. We can, _I_ can overcome it, in order to stay focused. But, oh... the _effort_."

Smiling, Sarah said, "Maybe that's why you like so much of the music, here. All of those lyrics."

He gave a smile in return. Beginning to stroke up and down her calf, he asked, "Do you have a 'type', Morticia?"

"A type of man?"

"Yes."

Well, it's probably you, she thought. It probably always had been. She remembered that, when she was in her twenties, her father asked her why all the boys she liked looked like they had worms.

But for years she hadn't had any real awareness of men. She'd looked at the lives of other women in puzzlement. How did they find the time, the energy... for those cumbersome, luggish, _oblivious_ creatures that were their husbands? And for the children, whose schedules seemed so impossibly busy.

Her 'type', she thought, was very much an unknown. But just to be aggravating, she said, "Hugh Jackman."

Jareth looked charmingly put out. His hand stopped moving on her leg.

"Hugh... _what_?"

"Sure." Sarah elaborated. "He's cute, funny, _very_ manly. And he seems so nice." As an afterthought, she added, "I think he has a coffee company."

" _I_ have a coffee _shop_. I bring you coffee _all_ the time. At _no_ charge."

Sarah thought, is he competing with Hugh Jackman? Poor thing. She'd pulled a rather rugged specimen out of her hat... a celebrity over six feet tall, muscle bound and wolfishly hirsute... and here was her elf. The former king.

"I'm just messing with you, Jareth. I'm not sure I have a 'type', these days. I don't think gorgons have 'types' ."

He seemed to accept that, unruffling a bit. His warm caress resumed.

An expression of wickedness made it's sly way into his features, changing the way his eyes held hers. The purse of his mouth became insinuating, and Sarah thought... for a little guy, he was amazingly noble of chin and jaw... his neck was such a strong column; statuesque. His hand loosened it's hold on her calf, and the backs of his fingers began a light trek up and down the backs of her thighs. Close to danger zones on the down-sweep. Sarah tried to keep her face neutral... It was difficult. Parts of her were becoming very wakeful, as when he'd kissed at her jaw. She was frozen in place, and yet felt the air shifting around her.

He asked her, "What do you think about when you use your vibrator?"

Now, _that_... she didn't want to discuss.

"Not happening, G.K. Not even."

"Can I see it?"

" _No_."

"Oh, come on, Tish. Let me see this thing that keeps you so self-contained and immune to the world of men."

"I don't think my _vibrator_ is responsible for all that..."

"Sarah... please."

Feeling huffy, she caved. "Fine." She got up and went to one of her dresser drawers, and returned with the secret, hidden instrument of her embarrassment. She hoped she'd have the wherewithal to get rid of it before she was found, dead. Jareth sat up, as if prepared to make a serious study, and Sarah handed it to him.

He looked disappointed. "It's just... a _massager_... like, for shoulders..."

"It can be used in other places." Sarah pointed out, sitting down again.

"I expected something sexier. More phallic." Holding the cord with a look that bordered on disgust, he said, "It _plugs in_."

"Well, I didn't want to fuss with batteries."

He turned the thing over; investigated. Looking up at her, he asked, "You're not one of those women always saying 'penis' and 'vagina', are you?"

He pronounced it 'vaginer'. It could be part of the NASA program. 'Vaginer' is orbiting the rings of Saturn.

"Not habitually." Sarah said.

"This thing looks so _clinical_."

"I'm sorry, Jareth, that you've found my vibrator to be such a let down."

The wicked look crept back, and he said, "Make it up to me. Let me use it on you."

" _No_."

"Come on... Keep your clothes on. Just let me play a bit."

He shifted his hips, and Sarah saw that, holy mother, he was _hard_. She could see it, trapped at his thigh, yet tenting out the sweatpants. The fabric was darkened by moisture where his erection, where the head strained at the sweatpants. Yes, it was big.

A rush went through her bloodstream... some flooding of some chemical that was shockingly abrupt, making her very aware of her body.... of the responsiveness between her legs. Did his nostrils _flare_ as the arousal hit her, full force? Surely a blaze flashed though his eyes.

She hadn't thought to be confronted by such basic, animal responses... or by his _cock_. She was unprepared, on every level, her eyes caught in a sort of crotch-driven tractor beam.

His self-assuredness returned. The bemused growl beneath his soft baritone. He shifted again, one hipbone pushed back, and the bulge, the tenting was even more evident. Sarah could see it's _shape_.

"Oh, you _like_ that, do you, Morticia?"

She had no response, no repartee. She couldn't say 'yes'... she didn't know how she felt about it. What was evident was that her body wanted it, which was a genuine surprise.

"Do you want to see it?"

Wow. Jareth got his groove back. He seemed quite confident about this part of himself, and it's effect on her. Sarah really wanted her dry humor to rescue her, if only to rid his face of smugness. She didn't want this moment, his _thing_ , to be the turning point of her 'seduction'.

In spite if this, she said, "Yes." He smiled his big, fangy smile, and Sarah added, "I don't want you to... _do_ anything with it. I just want you to show me."

"Alright, love." he said, still smiling.

He got to his knees, pushed down the sweatpants and clasped his hands behind his back. "For your harridan judgment." he said.

Sarah was overwhelmed. Her mind, shrill and harpie-like as ever, supplied her with a ready barrage of cynical material. You've seen one, you've seem 'em all. As if he's God's gift. Men will do _anything_ on behalf of their dicks.

The shrewisms weren't really getting through... it felt different. It wasn't just the appendage, itself; which certainly did hold her eye. It was him, Jareth. The blush high on his cheekbones, suffusing his lips. His supplication, his willingness to deal with her embittered, inhibited, matronly manner; and his willingness to quite literally show his own desire. His eyes, darkened and gone to slits, watched her as she took him in.

The thing, his cock... invited touch. That was all there was to it. It was long and furiously red, putting off heat, moisture gleaming at it's tip. It arced towards Sarah, a smooth, yet veined column of flesh. Her palm ached to hold it, to give it relief. To watch his face as she did so.

Breathless, she said, "Okay. That's enough. Put it away."

She thought he might fight her on that, but he complied, pulling up his sweats, somehow tucking the turgid thing back in. He still smiled... a soft, bemused smile that was mostly in his eyes. For the second time, he said, "Alright, love."

 


	17. Masturbation, or Personal Issues 2

The thing Sarah liked about her vibrator was that she didn't have to think too much. What passed for her sex life was not particularly sexy, she knew.... it had become a mechanical thing. There was a point, usually right before or after her period, when her body gave her a nudge. An _ahem_. Then her thoughts would wander.... most often to a dark place. That's the part she didn't like; the disturbance of psyche; the _normalis interruptus_. With the vibrator, with it's frank and direct addressing of the physicality of it all, she could just climax, already, and be done with it. The lightest touch of that thing around her clitoris... and then she could just focus on finding the right spot. It was like following a chart on genital stimulation.

Something to focus on, so her thoughts didn't wander.

After Jareth left, neither one of them as they were before... ( _God_.... the hug at the door, so warm, so redolent of his _scent_ ; and how her hand, seemingly of it's own volition, had slid down his taut arm, her fingers lingering at his...)

After he left, her thoughts wandered. To him, of course.... to that kneeling stance on her bed, offering himself. His willingness to _not_ be touched; to only be looked upon.

For awhile she listened to music, trying to calm herself; but everything she was drawn to seemed made up of a dark sexuality. Dark. She couldn't seem to find a lightness within herself when it came to sex. She listened to "Walk This World" by Heather Nova, "The Demon Lover" by the Green Pajamas.... a moody piece of music called "The Shaman" by The 3rd and the Mortal. She mused over a potential, dark Jareth playlist. Surely there was a place for his striped socks within it.

She didn't want the vibrator. The thing that spared her from thinking thoughts she didn't want to think... it now seemed an intrusion. It was as if her mind needed release as much as her body, maybe more so. She felt as if part of herself was demanding that the hold, the discipline that held darkness at bay be lifted. So that she could breathe. The discipline also kept Jareth at bay... it hindered her ability to soften, to _give_. To allow. It kept her suffocated, stuck.

She felt scared.

She left the music playing, the endless playlist spilling from her computer, and retreated to her bedroom... Which couldn't possibly be the same place, after what had happened. She lay in the dark, covers thrown back, down to her Hello Kitty tee-shirt. Which was kind of funny, considering. As her fingers gingerly, lightly touched her sex, she thought; Hello, kitty. No doubt, hers would be as goth and snarly as the one on her tee-shirt.

She touched in different places, unexplored by the vibrator... perhaps numbed by it. She didn't take her usual path directly to her clitoris, although... _boy_. Was it ever awake. It had probably been alert and aware of it's surroundings ever since Jareth had kissed her neck, and _now_.... it throbbed. It created a wanton feeling, low in her belly, deep in her sex, and Sarah didn't know quite how to deal with it.

Pulling up her tee-shirt, she did things she _never_ did. Just to _feel_. To imagine. Her hand moved over her face, in her hair, over her breasts, which surprised her in their sensitivity. It was Jareth's hands she conjured. Her eyes closed and he was vivid in her mind; his colors and scents, his ever-bemused face. _Oh_ , his voice. She _wished_ he was talking to her, now... she wished she had the moxie, the _give_ to let him talk her through this, over the phone. Or sitting beside her, on the bed... His voice, murmuring it's growl into her cerebral cortex, sending waves of pulsing warmth through her body, between her legs.

... To think of him, not so bemused.... his blush, his pleased vulnerability as he presented himself to her.

_For your harridan judgment._

She was so wet. Experimentally, she slid her middle finger inside of herself... a much ignored zone. The thought, the idea that Jareth might do this to her... his long, articulate, glossy-nailed fingers; that heady, here-to-please-you cock... She was so much more sensitive at her opening than she'd realized. The slightest in and out motion, or just a wet slide against the opening, and she was gasping. She thought so hard on Jareth, she wondered if she would ever again be able to look him in the eye. She kept imagining his eyes as he watched her... considering. His fingers, his tongue, a soft touch at her opening.

Was _he_ doing this, she wondered? Masturbating. The thought sent another surge through her, and she slid her finger inside, again, feeling how it fed the surge; the keening longing, making deep muscles tense and thrum with anticipation. She had a vision of kissing him, of keeping her body, her presence, close to his head, and kissing him as he stroked himself. Whispering at his ear, scenting the warmth of his hair, telling him how he _pleased_ her...

_God_. She liked him that way.... so full of _want_ , so ready to be whatever she needed. Pleased with himself, but weirdly submissive.

As her intensity rose, her thoughts changed. It was like she was no longer in charge. It was this that she'd sought to avoid with the vibrator, letting it jolt her into orgasm; not straying from the path. Now she let it happen. So much had been shut down for so long... if her mind, seeking release, had it's own path to explore... then so be it.

Images began with the old Jareth, the Goblin King. Sarah, trying not to come outside of herself, to analyze; leave her body; nevertheless _knew_ that this was a part of her arrested development. A piece of her, a sexuality that had awoken with his appearance all of those years ago, had simply stalled.

If she let her thoughts wander as they may, they went back to his eyes... they were cold, then. His cool, detached assessment of her. It had been so confusing... he was _real_ , he'd come to her call. She'd been imaging this great romance in her head for ages. She'd formed intense thoughts around magic. So inexperienced in the real world, she'd been oblivious to boys... they were hurtling objects, running after balls and tackling one another... others bodies in other desks in a classroom, meaningless to her in their Izod and Nike and Vans.

But in secret, she'd kissed the back of her hand, _imagining_. Creating. She thought of the mystical, magical man who was _hers_ , who held her above all others. She made spells and enchantments, drawing pictures of him....

And then he was there, before her. And if that was possible, then surely he was the one who loved her. _By night on my bed I sought him whom my soul loveth._ The one who would deliver her from the _crap_ that her life had become, and drown her in an ocean of love, desire and magic. Even if the truth of her wish was death, crossing over to another world, she wanted it.

He didn't seem to love her, though. He considered her. He judged her, chin lifted and mouth turned down.

Something happened.

In the dark, Sarah's eyes opened. She remembered standing strong. She had to, there was just no other choice. But as he looked at her; this cold, maybe cruel entity from another realm, the vision she'd created - she'd thought - just for herself; she'd felt naked before him. All of her hopes for love, for rescue... they were there, written upon her. All of her secret desires, still only half-understood, mysteries in her body, the wish to be _known_... that was there, too; written upon her. He read it all.

Further confusing her, he didn't offer his love, and yet he offered a gift. _Magic._

She'd wanted it so much. It was nearly all she'd wanted. Her heart leapt to it, pounding; her spirit blazed up and out. And the thing that happened inside of her is that she wanted to _please_ him. She wanted, more than anything, for this untouchable, aloof creature to see her as special; for his coldness to melt away, as he melted to her. _Hers_ to touch. To keep her with him and to hold her, dear; even if he had little regard for anyone else.

She'd had to nip all of it in the bud. It was like a scream, cut off at the windpipe, swallowed; unexpressed forever.

So this was what not using her vibrator got her. The sex of what she was doing had sort of fizzled.... she lay with her hand on her belly, staring at the dark, seeing inward; the colors and images of the Labyrinth. She felt her arousal, but other things, wonderings, pushed to the forefront.

What sort of woman _was_ she?

She hadn't felt, in so long, the way her teenaged self had longed for... a villain. The way she'd wanted to overlook the villainy; lies, secret agendas, threats; because she so longed to be the one, the only one, who could provoke love from such a creature.

Well, maybe that wasn't so unusual for a young girl. Surely she wasn't the only one to start out that way; believing in love, in her powers; only to have to learn about betrayal, self-respect, standing up for oneself. Being a no nonsense, no-means-no kind of girl. _Ugh..._

What might have been a little different was the _twist_ that happened inside of her, mostly forgotten until now. Her amazement that he arrived, followed by the shock of his apparent disinterest, followed by a gift. And a threat. The feeling of being naked before him... was it humiliation? She thought that it was, and that it had become hopelessly tangled up with arousal, with desire. With things she could barely put a name to, at the time. Humiliation, exposure... even fear. It almost became one thing with _want, need_... it had come to light again at the dream dance... and then her memories were gone.

She remembered being _unable_ to stay in the moment, in her body when she'd had sex with her husband. It wasn't that the sex was bad, or that she hadn't wanted him... it was that her mind longed to stray... to travel to darker places, to places like _the dance_ , where a mysterious, disdainful man who was magic _took_ her, in front of others; using her and leaving her exposed to their hungry yet derisive stares.

What the crap was that? It wasn't that different, really, from the homeless dreams... the forgetful dreams. The hostile people, thrilling in her fear... were they Fae? Was it the twist... the kink of humiliation, of wanting to let herself be controlled that had fucked up her life? Or was it the fact that she forgot it, and then stayed on the run from a nameless wraith, cut off from herself?

She let her hand once more settle between her legs, and she thought; dark thoughts or no; Jareth wasn't disdainful, now. And _he_ was the one who had been naked before her.... he'd offered himself, even if only for her amusement. Still, her eyes closing again, her visions took her back to the dance.

In her imagination, she didn't flee from it. She let the images come, washing over her.

She'd felt such jealousy to see Jareth, in all of his wild-haired finery, swaying in the embrace of two masked, painted women. They each lay their heads on his shoulders and had their hands on his body... they, all three, looked far away, entranced; and it wasn't at all hard for Sarah to conjure a sudden, startling image of Jareth in bed with the pair... Each of them seemed part nymph, part harlot, eyes large and doe-like, full lips lush with suggestion.

But he'd broken from them, relief sweeping though Sarah in a rush, and he'd come to her. He was hers. He danced her around the room, his tranced-out, half-mast eyes locked to hers, body attuned to her; moving her. Touching her. He murmured things to her, lost in music and hum of voices, spikes of laughter. Sarah had felt protected; under his protection.

When the confusion of it began in earnest, a fevered, fearful sense of things gone out of control, Sarah stayed with it. Her fingers worked her sex, thinking of _his_ fingers, _his_ hand; and her mind made a vision of Jareth laying her out on a banquet table, lavish with flowers and greenery, the masked crowd all around. Was she still under his protection? Would he let them touch her? Hurt her?

He stripped her of her fine, pristine, forest-touched gown, and she was the only shock of flesh, of vulnerability in the sea of lace and satin, velvet and silk, leather and taffeta and dripping jewels... cod-pieces like elongated noses and gloves of leather; jiggling cleavage and red lips. All around; white, white teeth. Entertained spectators.

He played with her... Sarah evoked it with her hand, her middle finger sliding inside, bringing on an aching feeling of muscle bearing down... a climbing anxiety that was also an intense arousal. He let the others watch... his fingers working her... her helpless arousal. He smiled, upside down; amused and pleased.

Then Sarah began to know that he was aroused. He wasn't all disdain, all show. His Fae affectation wore off... he was becoming the desperate being who'd offered to be her slave. He'd given his terms, yes. But he'd pleaded... his eyes had held to the moment, potent with need.

In her mind, her vision, he had not intended to lose control; to be on display... as she was. With a gnashing of teeth and eyes that blazed, he pulled his cock... that febrile, hard-up, willful thing... from his trousers. He rubbed it against her, getting it shiny-wet. His people _oohed_ and _ahhed_. When it slid inside of her, Sarah added a second finger, eyes shut tight, knees up. She thrust as hard as she could, imagining the slam of his narrow hips, the grip of his long fingers on her hips; her thighs.

On it's own, the vision changed again, a quick morph in her escalating excitement. Gone were the onlookers, the finery... the luxurious spread of flower and bough. The sense of exposure eased, and it was Jareth, in the here and now; tousled and disheveled, hair falling in his face. Naked. Her mind honed in on his face; flushed, intense; and the steady, almost punishing drive of his cock. She imagined him, pushed up above her, skinny, taut arms ram-rod straight, legs apart and on his knees, hips hammering. Lips parted, labored breath...

It was coming for her.... Sarah felt the build to climax almost like a panic. It rose higher, a keening note, little flutterings already moving in her, shrill and greedy at her sex; dark and ominous in her lower belly. She moved instinctively to grind against the heel of her hand, fingers inside barely moving. She imagined his voice... a hot whisper-growl... _you feel so good, your pussy feels so good..._

The climax that took her was so different... sneaky at first, the premonition of a big wave being born in a vast, dark ocean; beneath the surface. And then it was there... filling her body. A great, heaving darkness that rolled over everything, obliterating the bright images in her mind. She heard herself gasping, swallowing cries. She felt her body clenching at her fingers, her hand gripped to her sex. Her hips rocked. The darkness erupted into light, a bright flash of it, and then slowly began to settle. Even after the big contractions of the climax faded, she kept her hand over her sex, feeling small spasms, waves still moving in her body.

... _Finally_.

It was all she could think, and it seemed silly to feel such relief, such profound _release_ over something as banal as masturbation. But she felt it... a deep loosening, a letting go inside of herself; physical, but also mental. Her mind, so very kept under lock and key; so self-monitored and censored; had been let out of it's cage. It drifted about a nighttime sky, moving with stars.

Rolling to her side, she cried... feeling as if the tears were merely part of the release. Not sadness, but a shuddering liberation. She cried until she slept.

 


	18. Bones

Jareth arrived at the small, rural hospital where Sarah worked in the business office. He stood out like a neon sign to her... here, in her everyday life of dry mediocrity. ( _Why_ wasn't he visiting her at an archeological dig site, an artists studio, even a veterinary office? Oh, right. There was that thirty years or so of being afraid of everything).

She seldom noticed evidence of the Y chromosome in her surroundings, but when she did, they made Jareth seem like another species. Which, well; she supposed he _was_. There seemed to be categories of men in her life: the older, fifties-sixties, administrative, be-suited men, all seeming to look alike; the pudgy, early-to-mid-thirties guys, who were _dudes_ , part of case management or IT, sometimes cute in a hipsterish way, but... well... the word _lazy_ was hard not to fall upon; and the maintenance/engineering crew, of various ages, and yet they all looked like refugees from Molly Hatchet. Or some such.

Small as the hospital was, this tally of categories probably represented around a dozen men. For the most part, they remained invisible to Sarah, as men generally did. As had boys, when she should have been getting to know them, integrating them into her life.... Her life of imagination and belief in magic. How would that have worked?

Jareth, arriving at her office door with, for crying out loud, a picnic basket; drew eyes. Blushing, Sarah wasn't sure if what she felt was pleasure or embarrassment. She'd become so used to her coworkers' assumptions about her; based on her quietness, her childlessness and lack of husband or house. It was peculiar to see heads swivel. Women with wide eyes, looking Jareth blatantly up and down, (did they find him attractive, in this land of monster trucks that would swallow him whole; amongst bulky men and baseball caps?), then assessing Sarah with new eyes. She was rattled, and though he smiled his broad, upside down smile at the office full of women, Sarah didn't make introductions. She just mumbled, "I'll be back," and walked past Jareth, out of the door, feeling slightly blind. Not quite tunnel vision, but there was an edge of panic.

She led him to a picnic table outside, under a canopy of pine, river birch and maple, the barest sprinkling of the last of white, dogwood blossoms, appearing like stars in the green. She thought about ticks... he was smart, wearing his hat. They were vicious little buggers, here. Pollen and ticks... the beauty of the land came with a price.

He'd brought chicken salad sandwiches from a restaurant called Emily Anne's, along with clusters of green and red grapes. Two bottles of water, and a thermos of cafe au lait, from his shop, for Sarah to take back to her desk.

How had this happened? How had he become this cheerful, solicitous, thoughtful person? Was it real?

Looking at Sarah, he said, "You look different."

She didn't know how to look at him, head on. Directly. _I've seen you half-naked_ , she thought. The naughty half. She didn't know how to carry on.

And also, faced with the dapper Brit, civilized and mildly goofy in his yellow, button down shirt and crisp khakis... that fedora... She began to doubt it had happened.... His acquiescence; yielding. This man _morphed_ ; it was just a fact. Surely this person was not the same as the hot and bothered, cuddlesome, weirdly submissive man who had been in her bed. _Do you want to see it?_

And neither could he be the same person as the Goblin King, a wildness beneath his cultured, chilly stare. And it wasn't just the absence of Tina Turner hair and tights.

"How so?" she asked, studying her lunch rather than meeting his eyes.

"You look... softer." he said, the subtle under-growl rolling, like distant thunder. "What did _you_ do last night?"

She did look at him, then, drawn by the merriment in his voice. He was smiling at her, and there was something decidedly G.K. about it. He observed. He tilted his head.

"Well... nothing." she lied. "You were there. You left. Then I went to bed."

"You're such a bad liar, Tish. Your blush goes all the way down your blouse."

He very obviously eyed her chest, and Sarah felt the heat of her blood. _Yes, talk about it, point it out. That'll make the blush go away._

"You got off." he said.

"Really? Here? At the damn hospital?" She grew even warmer, and held her water bottle to her face. "I don't want to talk about it,here, Jareth."

"The setting matters, does it?"

Sarah didn't answer. She hoped a tick would crawl up under his pant leg. Stupid oxfords. The bit of ankle she saw was covered in a yellow sock with a pattern of blue herons. Where would he even find such items? Was he an online shopper?

He took a wolfish, voracious bite of his sandwich, startling her. Somehow he smiled, that curl at the corners of his pursed lips, even with his cheek bulging out and jaw working. He'd morphed again. Under the shadowed brim of his hat, he'd gone rakish and hungry, civility cast off.

Swallowing, he said, " _I_ got off."

"Oh. Newsflash."

He chuckled, and said, "I wish you'd called me. I'd liked to have heard you... talked to you."

Jesus. Not _here_. Sarah felt a little wave of arousal, unwelcome in her straightforward, tailored, work attire. She was Dana Scully, ever unruffled. Really, there was no place for this diversion in her life. She bought her underwear at K-Mart.... Hanes or Fruit of the Loom, in a six pack. Could he not realize that she was unfit for such deviation from the norm?

"Why do you fight it, so, love? he asked, his voice softer.

"I don't know." she muttered. She kind of wanted to confess... the visions she'd had, _getting off_... visions of him. The confusion she'd felt, still felt... about the intense arousal that the memory, the _physical_ memory of humiliation brought. Surely that wasn't her.

"Well, Morticia," he smiled, "Like it or not, what happened changed you."

Now she was irked. Her eyes flashed at him. "Seeing your _dick_? You think that was life changing?" As if.

He shrugged, a closed-mouthed smile-frown. "I don't know... You tell me. It's what happened after that I'm talking about. It softened you. Even spewing your usual, gorgon attitude, I can see the softening. It's in your bones."

Sarah stared at him. She wished he wouldn't be so smug. Even when she wanted to soften, that smugness made it difficult.

Smiling fully, he said, "You've _lubricated_ your bones, Morticia."

"Oh. Nice."

"It's true. You're less brittle. Less likely to fall and break a hip."

She rolled her eyes.

"Whatever you did, and I'm sorry I missed it; has made your skin, your eyes... your bones a softer, warmer territory."

"Jareth, you're nuts. Maybe I just got a good night's sleep. I'm less crone-like for it."

"I'll _bet_ you got a good night's sleep."

Sarah looked away. She really was a bad liar. Her irritation wasn't feigned, but it was hard to lie about the effect he had on her. About the intense relief of letting the parts of herself that she feared roam free in the night.

Feeling his fingers come to stroke circles on her forearm, she looked back at him. He gloated. As if he'd solved all of the world's problems by showing off his cock.

"Darling Hagatha." he purred. "If this keeps up, you'll avoid creaking bones and a dowager hump. You may even come to a point where your legs can actually open."

"Oh. Thank the heavens. All thanks to you, I suppose."

He lifted her hand to his mouth and kissed it. "I'm a faerie." he murmured, eyes briefly closing as his lips touched her skin. Sarah felt warmth go through her again... Strange, pressured in the knowledge that she had to get back to her desk. Opening his eyes, he gave his sly smile, teeth against her hand. He said, "I've always been in service to The Crone."

 


	19. Gift

He was behind the counter when Sarah came into his shop. His sound system played the long piece of music, "Haxan", by Bardi Johannsson. Though he could get far bouncier than she typically did, Sarah noticed that Jareth had quite the ear for dissonance; for a minor key and atmosphere. As did she. Of course, at any moment the disco would kick in.

He wore a white, tight tee-shirt and a buttoned-up, paisley vest in burgundy; snug to his narrow form. The ever present khakis. Just once, she wanted to see him in jeans and that tee-shirt that read, 'Evil is it's own reward.' Still, he looked sexy to her. The relative baring of his arms made her think of The Night. She liked the tightness of his clothes to his upper body... seeing his trim, lithe form. She smiled at him.

"Morticia." he smiled back. "I've been thinking of you. I bought you a gift."

_I've brought you... a gift._

Was it happening, again....? But no, he'd said 'bought'. Sarah approached the counter, and from behind it he produced, slammed down on it's scarred, wooden surface a big, honkin' dildo.

With a harpy-like screech, the sound of an old lady beating off marauders with her walker, Sarah - for some reason - crouched to the floor and covered her head with her arms.

".... Morticia?"

Oh, God. Why had she done that? It just _happened_ , that complete loss of all composure, and she couldn't take it back. She peeped up, face on fire, to see Jareth peering over the edge of the counter with concern. The object of her horror loomed, from her floored stance, like the leaning tower.

She made herself stand, not quite able to look at Jareth, or at... _it_.

With a genuine frown; soon, Sarah felt sure, to be laughter; Jareth said, "I expected a reaction of some sort, Sarah. 'Duck and cover' was not one I'd considered."

Sarah could only make a little sound of dismay, her throat tight. "Haxan" still played on, the doomed background to her mounting personal and social anxiety.

"Jareth, why?" her voice, a shocked whisper.

Then he smiled. Fangy, skeleton man. It was accentuated in his vest, following the line of his body. She hadn't looked at his backside when he'd so gamely bared himself for her... she wondered if he had any butt to speak of.

"I thought you needed it, love. What with that no-personality gizmo you've got tucked away, ready to motorize your bits. Should the need arise."

The thing was a little too realistic, too graphic for the brightly lit, coffee scented shop. Oscar shouldn't be exposed to it. It had balls... it rested on them, as Sarah had seen happen with mice, when she'd worked in a pet store. The males more or less sat on their engorged balls, like bean bags.

Jareth tapped his forefinger to the head; it was realistically formed, articulated, the cleft of it leading down to a central vein... the thing was _veiny_. When Jareth tapped it, which made Sarah flinch, it swayed. Upon it's bulky, ball-base.

"It's a reminder." he smiled. "So you don't forget about _cock_ in all of your pragmatic, plug-in stimulation. And... I thought you might like the penetration."

" _Jareth_!"

Sarah understood that their status-quo as frenemies-become-friends was undergoing another transition.... but should he really be pondering her masturbatory needs?

"And look," he added, face delighted. He lifted the thing from the counter with a squelchy pop. "It's got a suction cup on the bottom, so you can anchor it to the floor... or a wall. Should you want to."

Sarah saw that he either had the decency to blush, or he was making himself aroused. Cheesy grin replacing the fangs, he gushed. "Isn't it _neat_?"

Sarah just stared at him, feeling round eyed and utterly lost in some freakish, Dr. Seuss meets Rocky Horror Picture Show wilderness. It was alarming to see him _handle_ the thing. She flashed upon the notion that he'd had men as sexual partners... would _he_ want to mount it on the wall?

"I.... I can't take that thing, Jareth. You keep it."

His face fell; disappointed, hollow cheeked elf.

"It wasn't the cheapest purchase, Morticia."

"You want to financially guilt me into accepting a dildo?"

Oh, would you look at that.... there were the violin strains, and - sure enough - _Spring was never waiting for us, dear..._ The disco had arrived. Sarah knew, once the rhythm kicked in and Donna Summer revved up, Jareth's booty would shake, as if independent of his body. It really was true, about faeries and dancing.

"Well." Jareth sniffed. "If I must." Holding it by the base, he waggled it at her. Aimed it at her like a magic wand. "Accept my gift, Sarah. You can tuck it away for a rainy day, if you like." Making it puppet-like, his voice took on a startling change to a cartoonish, European, or maybe Russian accent. _"Hullo Sarah. I'm want make sex with you."_

"I see it's not all that smart." Sarah observed.

"Well, it only thinks about one thing."

Hearing the bell over his door, Sarah thought, _thank God_. "Put that thing away." she hissed. He teased, menacing her with it, casting big-eyed, _oh dear_ glances at the door, before finally hiding it away under the counter.

As an afternoon tea and coffee crowd milled in, Sarah meandered to the window seat she favored, in the bookstore. She pet Oscar, distantly hearing Jareth banter with customers. "MacArthur Park" transitioned into Artic Monkeys, "Do I Wanna Know". I also had a touch of disco flair, Sarah thought. She focused on it, and on Oscar, and tried to overcome her shock... and the curiosity that followed.

 


	20. Steers and Queers

Of course he would call.

"My darling Hagatha."

"Jareth."

"You forgot your gift."

'Forgot' was not really accurate. Fled the scene, perhaps more precise.

"He's so disappointed." Jareth added.

" _'He's'_ got you for company."

"Oh, a poor substitution for the likes of this little fellow." he purred. Was he petting it? "I've really only called to tell you that I'm coming over, Morticia. I'm giving you warning enough to get up and turn on lights. On a Friday night, I might add. It's not even nine o'clock, Tish."

How did he know she was in bed?

"No Jareth... I - "

But he was gone. With the stupid cell phone, there wasn't even a 'click'. Only an absence, a dawning realization. Radio silence.

Damn it.

\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

She looked in the mirror, a new ritual. He was getting what he was getting. Pink pj bottoms with giant strawberries all over them, and a faded, grey tee-shirt with a print of the tarot card; The Magician. He juggled skulls. Spitefully, she roughed up her hair. She wasn't gussying up for a freaking dildo.

\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

At her front door, he held up a gift bag from his shop. A paper bag with raffia handles, all in a cabbage rose print. Pink and cream colored tissue paper spilled from the top.

"Really?"

Smiling, he came inside. With an odd pride, he retrieved it from the bag. He'd tied a little, red bow-tie around it's 'neck'. Very dapper. In spite of grave misgivings, Sarah snorted a little laugh.

"Cute." she said.

"If you like it, I'll start wearing one, too. To please you."

She just raised an eyebrow, then offered tea.

"Sarah, we should go _out_. You shouldn't be in your nightclothes, holed up like an eighty year old woman."

"I _am_ an eighty year old woman. Don't you know that by now?"

".... The 'duck and cover' thing did give me pause..."

"Anyway, where would we go? To a bar? To some place where we can listen to covers of "Freebird" and "Country Boy"? At this hour, we'd probably get eaten by a coyote or a bear."

"Oh, you're _so much_ fun, Hagatha. If we stay in, then, I want to play with your toy."

"Knock yourself out."

With an eye-roll, he said, "With you, love. Otherwise it's no fun."

As she made tea, he came to stand behind her, and he rested the _thing_ on her shoulder... like a giant inch worm.

"Stop it."

He inched it to her face, and made as if it kissed her cheek. " _Mwah_ " Smack. "Us love old lady."

"Get away from me, you freak."

Sad, mew sound. "Old lady not love us back?"

She was not going to answer... _it_. She had no plans to speak to it. Even if it did wear a bow-tie. His play voice was unnerving her. She'd forgotten it, and now it was coming back to her from a more menacing time; his body somehow folded up, hidden in a wizened, bird-goblin form. _Ahhh... what have we here?_

"Mean old lady." he pouted. But the thing, guided by his hand, seemed to sniff about her neck.

"Take your tea, you big weirdo." she said, turning to Jareth with a cup. She saw that he was flushed again, and she felt much the same. It was different, now, to have him stand so close. It was provocative.

He took the cup, then made the thing plant a little kiss on her lips. Sarah blinked, and froze in place, startled. Perhaps offended... Should she be? It seemed too graphic an implication, but it _was_ just a toy. It smelled like Band-Aids. Maybe it wasn't that big a deal.

But Jareth backed down, seeming almost to swoon. He said, "I think I went a little far, even for me. That was... stirring."

A warm, pins and needles thrill went through Sarah. So... it _was_ a graphic implication, then; and had affected him. Well, good.

"Serves you right." she said. She went to her bedroom, somehow never comfortable in the rest of the hovel after nightfall. He, and _it_ , followed.

The object was settled on Sarah's bedside table, where it appeared to observe them. Listen to conversation. They took what had become their usual places; Sarah, propped against her pillows, her knees up. Jareth, in sock feet, cross-legged before her. They sipped tea.

"One of mine?" he asked, quirking a brow.

Feeling guilty, Sarah said, "Teavana. My parents were in Texas... my step-mom brought this back for me. It's Earl Grey Creme."

"Ah. Very Nice." He took another sip.

"It's not decaf."

"Ooh, living large, Tish."

As she'd done before, she edged out her foot and sort of goosed his shin with her toes. It was as if the only brave parts of her were her feet. As she'd thought he might, he placed his hand on her foot, a warm hold.

Stealing a glance at the dildo, smartly appointed in it's bow-tie, she sighed. "Why are you obsessed with my defunct sexuality?"

"Hardly defunct, love. Maybe funky. Stalled."

"Well. Why?"

He swallowed tea, then tilted his head at her. His curious, observer pose. Somewhat kingly.

"Have you no attraction to me at all?" he asked.

Well, of course she was attracted. She seemed to be built that way; wired for the likes of _him_. But to say it...?

Looking down, she said. "I do.... have attraction."

" _Thank you_. For an honest answer."

She looked at him, and he said, "I'm _attracted_ to you, love. And you've titillated me with your sexual retardation."

She looked to the ceiling.

Stroking her foot, her ankle, moving up under the pajama leg, he said, "I thought I was attracted when you called me, as a girl. But it wasn't the same as this. I was fascinated with you, then.... With your potential to open worlds, your strength... and you were a beautiful girl. But what I saw as attraction was really more of a love of the chase. Cat and mouse... the dance of it. Like playing chess. It never actually occurred to me that I might not win."

Sarah nodded. She knew. She remembered.

"Now," he said, "With so much changed... both of us so changed... It's as if I see you more clearly. You're still fascinating, Sarah. It's... stimulating to talk to you. And you're still beautiful."

Sarah looked down again, uncomfortable about beauty; ideals of beauty. She'd understood it better in her days of ribbons and princess dresses.

"I've wanted you since I first caught sight of you." he said. "I saw you, at your apartment, and I _knew_. I knew that even though I'd failed, you were mine. I was yours... linked. And then I got to know you. I wanted to please you." He eyed the toy. "I still want to please you, love. Like I pleased you, when I showed you my cock."

The pins and needles rush went through Sarah again, her cheeks warming. She smiled a small smile. Yes, he had pleased her. Then, brow furrowed, she said, "You saw me at my apartment?"

"You fed me grapes."

"... The _rooster_?"

He smiled. His hand squeezed her calf.

"The scruffy, ousted rooster?? You were an _owl_." The owl, somehow, seemed more mystical. But then again... the arrogance, the glam-rock tail...

"I can be an owl. Or a cat, a moth... whatever you like, within a certain size range. The ousted rooster just seemed... relatable."

"Oh." No wonder she hadn't seen it of late.

Shifting gears, he unfolded, stretched to set down his cup, and picked up the toy. Sarah's belly tightened, and she watched the tug and pull of his vest, in his stretch. The front was dark paisley... the back, a shiny, antique gold with a thin, maroon stripe. He took the bow tie off of the toy, making it instantly less civilized.

"There, now." he said. "He likes to be naked."

"Hm."

"Sarah, in the days, lo those many years ago, that you functioned as a sexual being..."

"Yes?"

"Did you like sucking cock?"

Oh, boy. The little buss in the kitchen had planted a seed. Sarah wasn't really used to tossing around words like 'cock', as Jareth liked to do. Combining it with 'sucking' was fairly jarring; her blood stirred, both fearful and interested. Her ex-husband would say 'blowjob', or just 'b.j.', neither particularly sexy or stirring to her, but she could roll her eyes and deal with it. The words had sometimes been accompanied by the Bevis and Butthead, 'Heh heh, heh.'

She said, "No."

"No?"

She shrugged. "It felt... stupid, somehow. Kind of demeaning. Like I was supposed to do this human jack-hammer thing, all the while mindful of my teeth and trying not to gag. It felt like being used... more so than sex."

" _Sex_ feels like being used?"

"Sometimes."

He shook his head, a wondering expression on his face. The tightening in Sarah's belly had turned into a tremble. He was _playing_ with that thing... absent-mindedly. Frowning over her words, his fingers lightly stroking it, feeling over the detail. It distracted and disquieted her.

She said, "I used to tell my ex-husband I couldn't go down on him because I'd get lock-jaw."

Jareth laughed, looked into her eyes; but then sobered.

" _Would_ you?"

"I don't think so." Sarah confessed. "But my jaw did this trembling thing, once... like maybe I couldn't control it. Like chattering teeth. It was probably more psychological than physical."

"Goodness."

He stretched out, first on his side, his skinniness making the deep dip at his waist, a rise at his hip. There was an illusion of girl-curviness. Then he rolled to his back, letting the toy rest on his belly. He sighed, starring up at the ceiling.

"I love getting head." he said.

"Shocker."

He rolled his head, looking at her. His long arm reached, fingers touching her leg again.

"Don't you?" he asked.

"Don't I... oh. You mean having it done to me."

"Yes." he smiled. "Don't you like it? Having your pussy licked?"

Sarah wasn't sure she could answer... the _rush_ kept going through her... his voice and crude words seemed to provoke it. The thought of him doing that to her, the image that struck her was potent. Unconvincingly, she said, "Settle down, G.K."

He huffed a little laugh, and said, "I don't know how you can stand in opposition of things that feel so good. That can be so sensual. I _love_ having my cock sucked... I love licking, sucking pussy. I even love sucking cock."

_Holy.... crap._

"You do?"

"Mm. You know, it doesn't have to be 'jack-hammering', Sarah."

"So you say. That's been my experience."

"Well... no doubt, it _can_ be. There is a dominance that can... take over. But it can also be more of a prelude. Something that's slow, sensuous... something to _feel_ , without being in a hurry. And, if you're attracted, if there's a connection, then it's also informative."

"Informative?"

"Yes." The growly voice... was this his aroused voice? "You learn a person's scent, taste... you learn sensitivities and triggers. Psychology comes into play; is the person who is being pleasured laying back, arms up in surrender? Or are they watching everything, visually stimulated? Do they have their hands on you, in your hair, directing you...? It tells you a lot about a person, both sexually and otherwise."

Sarah could barely take in his words. She felt pulsingly wet, and a little uncomfortable with it. The conversation seemed a weird mix of sexual and technical, and her mind could not stop creating images of Jareth... a shifting back and forth of aggression, submission. A sharp, almost tactile memory of his kneeling pose, cock out. She was too warm, fighting to keep her pelvis still.. her hips wanted to rock, to ease her ache.

"You've done this... with men?"

Smirking, he said, "It's rather a staple when fooling around with men." Rolling to his belly, he said, "Look, love. I'll show you."

Sarah's pulse leapt to an alarming, hummingbird sort of vibrating as he propped the toy upright on the bed, holding the base. He made a long, slow, wet lick up the central vein, then barely suckled the head.

It's a toy, Sarah tried to remind herself. A rubbery, plastic sort of thing... it doesn't mean anything. It was play. But it was _so_ graphic. Too graphic. Pornographic. His eyes closed, and she watched his cheeks hollow. He moved his head slowly down, lips wrapped around the toy. He took a lot of it in his mouth, breathing through his nose, then slid back up; taking only the head, sucking and kissing. His hips began a subtle grind against the bed, one knee akimbo, and Sarah's arousal became nerve-wracking. Her disquiet was too much, and she gave him a little kick in the butt. There was a little rounding there, she noted. A curving, bunched muscle.

"Okay. Stop." she said.

He let the thing go with a wet smack, looking up at her, flushed.

"See?" he said, breathy. "It doesn't have to be fast and furious."

Sarah couldn't speak. Turning back to the toy, he encircled the shaft with his hand. He said, "It can get rough when a man is close to coming... when he's _trying_ to come. Then he'll need more pressure... suction, friction. If you're uncomfortable with the increased pace, then stroke him..." His hand made fast, masturbatory stroking, "and just suck the head."

She'd been in a confused world of images involving Jareth pleasing some anonymous man; now she wondered if he was instructing her on how to please _him_. It did little to lessen the confusion, or the voluptuous, yet hurtful lust that had taken hold of her.

Her mouth dry, eyes hot and vision blurring, Sarah croaked, "Thanks for the tip, G. K. ."

"Some men really only need the visual. If you stroke, and just keep your mouth open, maybe your tongue out... Well, that will do it for a lot of them."

"Gee. That wouldn't feel stupid at all."

Rolling back to his side - yep, there was the tenting - he gave Sarah a rather annoyed look.

"Need you be superior in all things?"

Well, that was weird. All she could think of was his look of disinterest, and later, disdain... when she was a girl. Her overly romanticized, hopelessly _open_ heart on her sleeve, her voice carried across dimensions of magic, and then that _look_. Superior. She'd felt _so_ stupid.

She looked at her hands, folded on her knees, uncertain of what to say. Uncertain of herself.

"Sex can look stupid." he said, nursing the slightest of scowls. "Out of context, outside of the moment, it has been the subject of comedy and derision... who knows for how long? Maybe since humor began."

"Like fart humor?" Sarah asked.

He smiled a little. "Yes, Morticia. Like that. If you stay caught up in worrying about how something looks... in having to be in _control_ every bleeding moment... you'll never have any fun. You won't connect."

Control. Another personal issue.

Blushing, aware of every inch of her skin beneath her tee-shirt and pjs, Sarah asked, "Did it excite you? Pretending with that thing?"

He bonked the toy against her knee. "It excited me that you were watching." After a pause, watching her, he said, "It excited you, too."

She stayed silent. It was too confusing. everything about Jareth confused her, even more so when it came to sex. Sexuality.

He abandoned the toy on the bed, crawling to her. As he'd done on his couch. Sarah tensed, and he came to rest on his knees, butt on his heels, close to her.

"I'm going to kiss you."

He was so close. Up close, mismatched eyes; blue-green, hazel-amber; feverish mouth. His scent that was sun-warmth, and a greenish, cologne coolness that lingered, faded with the day. A ghost of tobacco, smoke. Sarah wanted to mold her fingers to his chin... in frowning pout it had the slightest dimple. Heat came from his pale skin, so strange when she always associated him with coolness.

Control.

He leaned even closer, and brushed his lips against hers. Barely a kiss. She inhaled sharply, taking in more of his scent, jolted by her heart. Her body, her skin and blood, were painfully alert.

"Do you like this?" he whispered.

She gave the barest of nods. He did it again, another brush, soft and whispery, then a light press. Sarah felt her own lips soften, brush back against his, parting slightly. Her eyes closed heavily, her head tilted back, face raised in expectation. For a moment, she shared his breath, breathing in tandem. He pressed again, lips touching, moving to capture her bottom lip in his, a soft suckle. Coming to share breath again, lips parted against hers, he touched the tip of his tongue against her lips.

Sarah's breath caught, her whole body shifting with the surge that raced through her. A small sound happened in her throat... a quiet, querulous whine. She felt an immediate response from Jareth. An upsurge. He inhaled, exhaled; mouth opening wider against hers. With a moan, his tongue was inside her mouth, aggressive at first, then it softened. He teased against her tongue, eventually drawing back, only flickering the tip of his tongue to hers. Their breath came hard, mingled with muffled sounds... shocked pleasure.

Sarah had to break the kiss. She didn't want to, but it felt dangerous... it felt like she hovered over a dark unknown, about to be dropped. It felt as if she might scream, so heart-rending was her need to have him moving inside of her. She couldn't quite still her hips, squeezing her thighs together in a sort of agony. She needed solid ground, a friend. Another cup of tea.

"Are you alright?" Jareth breathed, eyes barely open. He was a bow, pulled taut.

"No."

"No." he agreed. Me neither."

 


	21. Penetration

"Morticia."

"These nighttime calls have got to stop."

"Sorry, darling, I can't stop. I have Sarah-faced demons haunting my nights. I need something from you."

_Well... you needed my love, once. To save your people. Look how well that turned out._

"Ask me what I need."

"No."

"Harridan shrew-bitch." As per the usual, his insults were spoken mildly, seemingly with affection.

"What do you need, Jareth?"

"I _need_... for you to get your toy. I need you to take off your pajama bottoms and panties, and let's just see what happens while we talk."

"Seriously? Phone sex? Has it come to this?"

"It has."

"Jareth... this is ridiculous. I could just _tell_ you I've done those things. I could be paying my bills... thinking about work. I could be painting my toenails."

"True. But, Sarah, wouldn't it feel good to just _do_ it? You're safe, alone in your room; I'll assume in the dark, cave dweller that you are."

"Yep. A regular troll queen."

"Indeed, Hagatha. What's to stop you? Wouldn't you _like_ to.... ? Take off your panties, spread your bone-softened legs, close your eyes and listen to me talk to you. Can't you make yourself come, knowing how it's exciting me... that I'm getting off on it?"

_Evil_. He sounded like he was already doing it... already stroking.... anxious, hot and breathy. That, more than his words, made a rush inside of Sarah, chest to belly, then lower. Her limbs hummed. His anxiety was transferred to her, his voice a warm and seductive thing, traveling to her brain... racing along her skin, in her blood. As with his kiss, it felt frightening.. So much unknown. Things going out of control.

Fighting for composure, Sarah said, "Hang on."

The toy was hidden in a dresser drawer, along with the vibrator. It looked so much more incriminating.... it embarrassed her to see it, to pick it up. But she did, wondering how far she would go with this call. What would she allow? What did she want?

She set it on her bedside table and turned her light off, once more in darkness. She slid out of her bottoms and picked up the phone, laying back on her pillow. "Okay." she said, tense. Uptight, as he'd said. Repressed. Her right hand rested on her lower belly, legs relaxed, but not open.

"Okay... what?"

"Okay... I'm half naked in my bed. The... toy is nearby."

"Really?"

"Well... yes. You said..."

"Yes, I did. Good. I didn't think you would oblige me at all, love. Thank you."

"You're... um.... welcome."

He laughed a soft laugh; a rich, throaty, villain sound. He became quiet.

"I don't know what to do." Sarah said, her eyes swallowing darkness.

"Mostly just listen to me." Jareth said. "Sorry... I was... regrouping. Tell me, love. What were you thinking of that night... after I showed you my cock?"

She took a little breath, her fingers warm, a light caress on her belly.

"I thought about _that_." she said. "Seeing you that way."

"You liked it."

"Yes. Your... willingness. And I thought of when you first came to me. And the vision you sent me."

He made a little purr.

"Tell me what you're doing." Sarah said.

"Just... thinking. Wondering about you. I'm naked, in my bed. Fondling a bit."

"How do you... fondle?"

".... I think of you, love. Your small hands, long fingers. I think of you touching me, just feeling... investigating. Feeling over my cock with your fingertips. Teasing."

Her hips rocked a little, breath caught.

"You want to watch me, don't you, Sarah? You want to watch me, touching my cock."

"Yes." A whisper.

"I want to see you, too. _Fuck_ , Sarah... To see you, legs open, fingers on your pussy... You make me so hard."

She was quiet, breathing; the intensity low in her belly, deep in her sex was almost like cramping... waves and spikes of pleasure that happened without touch. Responding to his voice. She listened to his breathing, imaging his hand touching, stroking the length of his flushed cock. She imagined the color in his face, tension at his brow.

He said, "You like me submissive. Don't you, love?"

Her eyes opened. Did she? "I... I don't know."

"You liked me, hands behind my back, presenting for you. You liked seeing me suck your toy."

Her hips moved again. She _had_ liked those things. But...

"I'm not... like a mistress. A dominatrix. I don't want to wear leather and step on you, or something."

He surprised her with a groan, a spasm of breathlessness. Then he said, "No... I don't think your desires are quite so black and white. But, those things, they _did_ something to you."

"Yes."

He purred again. "What about the other way around? What if I told you how much I want to see my cock against your lips? What if I told you how much I think about fucking you?"

It was almost too much... the feeling that rippled through her made a moan slip from her lips, and her hand moved low, legs opening.

" _Oh_ , yes." Jareth said, his voice a soft, steady, low baritone. "Yes, love. You're making me stroke in a regular rhythm, now... are you touching your pussy?"

Sarah could barely breathe, much less speak. Her fingers stroked up and down her slit, getting everything wet, slippery. "Yes." she whispered.

He moaned, and Sarah felt her mouth open, a shuddering gasp take her.

"Are you wet?"

"Yes."

"Imagine I'm licking you, Sarah. I want to, so badly.... make your fingers soft and slow. Go in circles around your clit, and imagine my tongue. I want to tease your pussy with my tongue until you're almost crying... begging for my cock."

_"... ohhhh....."_

"Yes, love... I'm licking... so soft, so wet. I'm not making you come.... I'm teasing, kissing. Put your fingers inside and imagine it's my tongue, sliding in, tasting... soft, light..."

Sarah did as he said, coming steadily undone, her body wracked with sensation. His voice fed images to her mind, but it did something altogether different in her blood. His voice was _inside_ of her, working her; squeezing and touching.

"Do you want me to fuck you, love? Do you want my cock?"

_"Yes."_

" _Ohhh.... fuck_. Sarah, I want it so much. I want to be there, now. Seeing you, feeling you. I want your scent, your taste. I want to _fuck_ you... so hard."

"I want you to."

He groaned, a pleasured, frustrated sound. "Get your toy, Sarah."

"Okay."

"Tell me... what you're doing..."

"... Getting it wet, rubbing it against myself."

"Fuck, _yes_... imagine it's my cock. When you're ready, slide it inside your pussy. Let me hear you."

"I... okay..... _Ow_."

"Not too rushed, love. As I understand it, it's been awhile."

"Cripes." She was a little shocked by the resistance of her body. She hadn't felt such resistance to her fingers, but now... Now that her body felt like it so desperately needed to be transgressed... _penetrated_.... it was as if unknown muscles bore down, closing off the way. It took her out of the intensity of the moment.

"I think I've become a virgin, again."

"Are you wet enough, love?"

"I think so."

He made another little moan at that, and it worked at Sarah, her heart hitting a stutter, a hot wave of dark intensity rolling through her lower belly. Damn it, she wanted the toy _in_ her. She wanted his voice, breathy and desperate, as she felt the newness of it, the friction... as she imagined _him_.

Growly, he said, "Just try to slide the head in."

He seemed to have forgotten the toy's role as stand-in for himself. He instructed her for her own sake, telling her how to handle it. "If you can do that, just slide the head in and out."

She managed it, with an alarming, stretching, little spasm of pain. But it passed quickly, her body adjusting, and an entirely new shock of intense pleasure hit her. She kept her motions slow, testing.

"How does it feel, Sarah?"

"Like I might cry."

"It hurts?"

"No... not now. It just feels _so_... It feels good, but it _aches_. Even in my chest."

"Oh... that's good, love. Just go slow. Let your body tell you what it wants."

"What do _you_ want, Jareth?"

"I want you... I want to watch you, right now. I want to kiss you again, and feel your skin against mine. I want to do what you're doing... slide the head of my cock in and out of your pussy, _watching_ it, going mad with wanting..."

"I want you... so much." Sarah said, barely audible, breath halting. It was hard to confess, and yet she wanted to confess it. Confessions weighed on her chest, compressing her.

"I want you, too, love."

"Did you want me when I was young?"

"Yes. Differently, though."

"You wanted to win."

"Yes."

"Now, what do you want?"

She heard him take a ragged breath, half moan. " _Everything_. Your friendship, companionship. I want you to be my lover... I want to _fuck_ you... to _unblock_ you. To have all of you."

Sarah's blood felt to be near boiling. She figured out some technicalities... she drew her knees back, tilted her hips up, and it eased the passage of the toy. She slid more of it inside and gasped.... her clitoris was hopelessly teased by the lack of direct stimulation, but the penetrations was... _carnal_. And even the tease was pleasurable... she was hot, her bedclothes too hot around her.

With a whimper, her neck arched back, she said, "Jareth... talk to me..."

" _Ohh_ , yes.... Is it in more, now? Are you fucking your pussy with it?"

"... yes..."

He made a strangled sound, and Sarah thought she could hear an almost _slapping_ sound... he worked himself, going fast.

"Does it feel good, love? Do you want more?"

_"Yes."_

He moaned again. Sarah could hear the effort in his words. She imagined the contractions that gripped her taking hold of him... sweeping through him.

"Slide it all the way in.... Can you?"

"Oh... yes. Jareth, please..."

"Go faster... I want to fuck you that way, baby. I want to fuck your wet pussy, so hard. So fast, in and out, feeling you around me... so tight, so wet..."

Sarah's mind was a strange, dark, whirling thing as she worked the toy. His voice mattered to her more than his words, and yet his words did affect her.

Somehow she'd been transported back to the dance, to the banquet table, everything covered in such lavishness, such a rich display of the wealth of magic and nature. Everything but for her... she was naked and rudely splayed out, surrounded by flowers and tree boughs and... beribboned antlers? God knew what... the richly dressed people in their exquisite, horned and beaked masks, watching. Jareth, unmasked, cock out, intense... fucking her. She could feel it, the toy slamming into her so fast, so hard; as he would... narrow hips muscled and driven by her sex, her heat.... she felt the squeeze around the toy, an alien feeling to her body.

He _knew_. She didn't question how, lost in image and sensation. In her ear, shooting into her neural networks, his voice was all growl. She'd never hear him sound that way.

He said, "They're watching you, love. Your naked body... your vulnerability. They're excited, hot and turned on, hidden in their clothes, behind their masks. They're _spectators_ , love... they're watching my cock slide in and out of your pussy... they see how wet you are, the deep blush of those plump lips... they see how much you love it. They see how your pussy _contacts_ for me... when I pinch your nipples, when I pull your hair..."

Sarah moaned... _mewled_...seeing it. She was almost in that room, physically present in that place where she didn't want to go, but to which she kept returning.

"I have your toy, Sarah. I'm fucking you with it in front of them, letting them watch. _I_ want to watch, too. I want to use it on you, and kiss you... suck at your breasts. As they watch, I'll fuck your pussy with the toy, and lick your clit."

Sarah moaned as a wave of dark, dark pleasure broke over her, then seemed to lift her. Buoyant. Hanging.

"Would you like that, love? Next time I see you, that's what I'll do. I'll fuck you with that naughty toy... make you _ache_. And I'll suck your hard, little clit into my mouth... lick it and play with it... suck and kiss.... _Ohhh_ , _come_ for me, Sarah. Let me hear you come, with that cock up your cunt and my mouth on your pussy."

His voice was so harsh, and it somehow pushed her over... Her body squeezed the toy out, and she made a few, frantic strokes over her clitoris with the head. A helpless sound burst from her, her eyes squeezed shut. The toy was dropped, and her hand pressed to her sex, knees clenched together. She _pulsed_ against her fingertips, whimpering, caught in the climax, riding out fiery, vehement shocks of pleasure. She could hear Jareth, an agonized sound in his throat; his breath and soft moans making the fervent waves come back to her, again and again.

It happened again... tears leaked from her eyes, running down the sides of her face... strange and evoking childhood as they hit her ears. She couldn't quite stifle a sob.

"It's alright, Sarah."

"I know. I'm sorry... to end on sort of a bummed note... I don't know why..."

"It's just release. I see now... the conflict within you. Especially regarding me. I see why you're afraid to let me in... afraid of yourself."

"You do?"

He sighed... a long, satisfied exhalation. Sarah could see his long stretch, pale body, in her mind.

"We damaged each other quite well, once." he said. "I guess we both came away from something strange and intense, surreal... only to feel rejected. Alone."

Sarah rolled to her side, cradling the phone.

"I guess so." she said.

 


	22. Faeries, Magic, Vampires

Meeting in his shop was deliberate, as she didn't think she could face what she'd done, head on. Anyway, it had become routine to meet there. He was already making her cafe au lait when she came in.

"Hello, love."

He looked different. That was gratifying... he wasn't quite his usual, bouncy self. His eyes looked more open, more vulnerable. Nick Cave sang, "I'll Love You Til The End of the World" in the background.

"Hi."

He sat down with her, only to get right back up as people came in. Sarah sipped her coffee. She looked around, overwhelmed... on a number of issues. One was the shop; he had re-named it, changing the sign and some of the merchandise in the "junk" section. Now the shop was called Crones and Bones, which was - of course - in her honor. There was a new selection of new-agey sorts of things... crystals, candles... potion-like combinations of essential oils and tiny stones, with names like Morgan Le Fay and Forest God. Sarah wondered how it would go over in the Bible-centric community. She hoped Jareth wouldn't be burned at the stake.

There was no actual magic; it was all wishful thinking, with a general nod to health and wellbeing.... Massage oils, spell themed soaps. (Beauty, happiness, prosperity). Sarah wondered if he'd start selling 'adult' products... some of his merchandise was already crossing into the realm of the sensual. Included with his regular teas were concoctions such as 'Aphrodite', 'Cardamom Lust' and "Beloved'.

The little crowd cleared out, a few lingering in the bookstore; an aging hippie couple browsing over massage oils. Jareth came to sit with her again.

_Hello, pretty_ , she thought. Maybe she really was softening... He looked marginally less skeletal to her, and she saw glimpses of old, black and white film stars. The profiles, elegant, of John Barrymore, Lawrence Olivier. Maybe the pout, the naughty, insightful eyes of a young Peter O'Toole... that mad-cap, tousled, flaxen hair. Here, in this world, Jareth began to put her in mind of such things.

"Good?" he nodded to her coffee.

"Perfect."

His hand reached out... long, spindly fingers sprouting from knuckly, artistic hands; so sculpted. He played his fingers over her hand, then held it.

"Come see me tonight." he said. He meant in his apartment. Probably his bed.

Sarah said, "Alright."

\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

They were _making out_. This is _making out_ , Sarah thought, and would have been amused if she wasn't so keyed up.

"Stop thinking." Jareth murmured, mouth hot at her ear. His hands were under her blouse, undoing her bra. He'd held her breasts... squeezed and massaged over the bra, and Sarah had thought - _Jareth_ is feeling me up. The _Goblin King_ is feeling me up.

She couldn't stop thinking the literal truth as it was happening, astounded by events as they unfolded. Jareth pulled back, and Sarah felt overwhelmed by his overwhelmed appearance.

"You are ridiculous." he said. He rapped on her head with his knuckles.

"Ow. Can you _hear_ my thoughts?" Because, yikes.

"Not really. I feel them." Moving his hands about his head, he said, "It's this constant _buzz_. It's very distracting."

"I'm sorry. I guess it was easier over the phone."

Jareth stretched out on the bed, a capsized angel. Tousle-headed, shirt all undone and messy... Sarah couldn't get over his skinniness. Propped on his forearm, he said, "You fell easily into fantasy over the phone... a good place for you, I think. The face to face reality is making your brain very chatty. All, I assume, in the name of maintaining control."

"I'm not!" Sarah protested. "Really... after the phone thing.. I'm not trying to control anything."

"Really, love? You're not slightly outside of yourself? Taking notes, keeping inventory. Trying to gage what's next."

Oh. Somewhat deflated, she said, "I didn't realize... I didn't mean to."

"It keeps you separate." Jareth said. "Apart. Not _here_."

Oh, she knew. As did her ex-husband. What was less clear was how to stop it... it just happened.

Her undone bra felt awkward, clinging to the forward pull of her breasts. She reached under her shirt, pulling down straps then tugging it off, under her hem. Jareth's eyes tracked her movements with interest.

"I think," he mused, "I could keep you here with me if I was inside you."

Sarah went flush, staring at the bedspread.

"I can't be sure, but it's worth a try." he grinned. He shrugged out of his unbuttoned, rumpled shirt; skinny pale man in loose, black trousers, bare feet. Sarah felt mesmerized. It was like when he did the spinning, juggling thing with crystal balls. His arms were long, firm... bigger at shoulder and elbow in his thinness; rangy. Dark, small nipples lay flat to his bony chest. His abdomen was a long sweep of flowing lines, his navel an elongated oval of shadow.

"Did you know the vision I would have, when you sent me the peach?" The magic Ruffie, rotten at it's core. _Poisoned?_ The junkyard came back to her, full-blown and quite suddenly. The woman... a crone? Her attachments burdensome on her back, and the false security of the false home. So like her dreams...

"I did." Jareth said. "What I gave you was meant to be a gift."

"It was meant to throw me off the path."

"It was." he agreed. "But it was also meant... It was another thwarted attempt at seduction."

Not entirely thwarted, Sarah thought. Clearly, it haunted her.

"In my homeland, it was a tradition, usually between two people who are betrothed. They would create a dream potion, a seduction... each will give the other a little taste of what they imagine."

"What they imagine... like, sexually?"

Jareth smiled at her. It was a little too much. She'd gone through quite a vampire stage; she supposed it wasn't long after the Labyrinth. Now she thought she must have transferred some of his qualities to those ghostly, demonic, vampire men who so lured her young imagination. That fangy smile. His pale, hungry body and alien eyes. The dark eye, seeing other worlds.

"Yes, dearest. It's a gift of dream sex... access to another's imagination."

"So... the vision is _yours_?"

It felt like hers.

"As I recall," he said, "you didn't linger for my full vision. But, yes. The part you experienced was mine."

"You wanted me to be frightened... to be scared of those people... faeries."

Pushing himself up, he crawled to her. _God_. She admitted to herself how she loved that... his bare chested, shoulder rolling, menace of a crawl. He eased her to lay on her back, kneeling over her; astride. His long fingers began to unbutton her blouse.

"I was in it. What you remembered, over the phone."

"I know."

"I was arrogant, as I've said. Immature. But I read you right, Sarah. You wanted a sort of darkness... and that darkness was _in_ me."

He opened her blouse, laying her bare. Sarah sucked in her breath, feeling her nipples harden in the cooler air, under his gaze. She felt as if her breasts swelled, anticipating his touch. He leaned down and flicked his tongue over her nipple, then sucked her into his mouth. His hands held both breasts, cupping, massaging in a firm way. Sarah squirmed beneath him, both overly sensitive and yet eager for him, offering; her arms thrown back over her head.

He moved up to her mouth. His hands slid up her arms, coming to hold her hands, to pin them to the bed. His tongue muscled into her mouth, stealing her breath. Sarah surged to meet him, her body responsive to the hold on her wrists, to his kiss, and his kneeling stance, above her. The rumpled coverlet of deep green and thin, crimson stripe gave way to a brief, internal glimpse of a faerie realm; an altar of evergreen and antler, glossy holly and red berry; the spoils of her belief in Santa Claus weirdly in evidence. Then, still scenting ghost pine, she was only awash in feeling. His tongue, at first almost fighting with hers, eased into a soft, sensual play. She was teased, feeling her mouth open, tongue extended to touch against his... her lips, sensitive, electric when they brushed to his. The tip of his tongue to her lips was nearly unbearable.

She opened her eyes as he pulled back, surprised at the lights in the room. She realized that even when her mind didn't go to the sort of darkness conjured by the dance, it , nevertheless, went into a literal darkness. It was a darkness that obscured vision and seemed to move within her, amongst her cells.

Jareth brought one hand to her face, his other still holding her wrists. His fingers touched over her jaw; thumb, sensuous and proprietary, caressed over her lips.

"It's in me, still." he said, quietly.

"Darkness?"

"Yes."

"I think it's in me, too."

"I know, love."

His hand, the backs of his fingers, trailed down between her breasts.... stroking lightly; up, down. He palmed and squeezed her; toyed with her nipples, watching her. Pretty demon. Vampire faerie.... watching her with darkened eyes, swollen lips and pale hair falling in his face. She wanted to paint him. She had dozens of paintings from her period of forgetfulness... vampire years. Obsession with magic and the horned origins of Santa Claus; his reindeer with elemental names like 'Thunder' and 'Lightening'. Pretty, feral and distant men... collapsed on beds of fallen leaves, arms thrown back - as hers were... lurking in trees... brooding on primitive looking thrones.

His mouth came to hers, again. Sarah's eyes closed, and she wondered what _he_ saw. Did vision open up within him? His hand moved from her breasts to her throat, holding her warmly there. Forefinger and thumb in a caress at her jaw, as his mouth went wide open over hers... invasive. Sarah allowed it, breathing hard, darkness closing in and enfolding her.

The intrusive thoughts returned. She couldn't really believe she was doing this. She was kissing him, _Jareth_ ; her man of magic. He'd once offered her magic, and she'd declined. Her mind wandered in a girlish way, wondering what it would have been like if she'd accepted... if she'd become the paramour of the Goblin King.

It sounded so much better than 'wife'. And 'divorcee'. But it was all just words...

"Have I lost you, again?"

"No." Sarah opened her eyes. "I'm here."

"Hm. You do tend to scurry off, though. I don't see how you can... I'm so _aroused_."

She swallowed at that, chills creeping over her, further hardening her nipples. He noticed, and bent to suck one, making her back arch. Releasing her wrists, her neck, he said, "I need to be inside you." He started to undo his trousers.

"... Jareth..."

"Come, come, love." he nodded, with a tad of impatience, to her jeans, swinging his leg off of her.

"I don't think I'm ready."

"Oh, you are. You're ready... You've bypassed 'ready' and you're headed for 'needful'. 'Overdue'."

"I think that's you."

"No... I'm well past 'overdue' and venturing into 'desperate'. Anxiety-ridden and in a small amount of pain."

His trousers and boxers, a red tartan, Sarah couldn't help but notice, came off in one sweep. She was faced with his naked body; urgent, flushed cock. She caught her breath, wondering at her attraction to _faeness_... pale, moonstruck skin.

As she'd made no move towards her jeans, he began undoing her button. It was funny to watch him, in a naked kneel at her side, cock upright and attentive. His focus was on practical matters at hand; he frowned. Sarah smiled, almost laughing, and he looked slightly vexed.

"Raise up." he said,curt. He slapped her haunch. Sarah raised her hips, pressed back on her shoulders, and he pulled off jeans and panties. Lowering her hips, Sarah fought the urge to cover herself. Her knees pressed together, feet flat on the bed. Jareth, giving her a sly look, reached a hand beneath her knees, teasing at the backs of her thighs. Travelling down, he found the pout of her vulva, and made a guttural sound as he pet against her.

"Oh... It's too much." Sarah said, panic rising. Her arms covered her breasts and she rolled her knees to the side, a protective curl. It, in fact, gave him better access. His hand slid warmly over the curves of her bottom, fingertips light where her skin was sensitive. His hand came to rest in a light tease at the tops of her thighs, just under her buttocks... almost, but not quite touching her sex.

"I can't get used to you touching me this way." Sarah said. " _Seeing_ me this way."

"Doesn't it feel good?"

Taking in a breath, Sarah said, "Yes. _Yes_.... but it's so strange, Jareth. I feel like I'll disappear into a dark place. And never come back. It doesn't seem real."

He held her eyes, his arms in a cradling embrace around her legs, hand still warm and imminent, near her sex.

"It's alright, Sarah. You're here... firmly grounded. Take some control... touch my cock."

He sat cross-legged in his lean about her body. His cock rose from a nest of pubic hair the color of brown sugar, like a hot serpent, scenting the air. A tense fretfulness, flush to his belly.

"You think that will help?" Sarah asked.

Fangy, he said, "It will help me."

Well, that eased her descent, somewhat. A little dose of earthy, horny male; whatever the species. Familiar. Her body curled so that she was closer to him, a fetal position. One hand clutched close to her chest, she reached out and touched her fingertips to the heated shaft. her eyes moved up to watch his face, his eyes hooded, mouth slack. His cock jumped at her touch, and he groaned when her hand closed around it. Sarah had an odd desire to suck her thumb.

"Is that good?" she asked, moving her hand in a loose, fondling stroke. The heat between his legs was travelling up her arm.

"Yes... it's good." he sighed, hips moving a bit.

His fingers became more articulate, stroking over the pouting, sensitive exposure of her vulva, then moving in a firm slide at her slit, opening her. Sarah gasped, closing her eyes, her body again curling in on itself, reflexively. For a moment her hand's motion stopped, merely holding his cock. Absorbing it's heat, it's pulse. Catching her breath, she began moving again.

"You're _so_ wet." Jareth said, nearly a moan.

"Yes."

Aggressive, his middle finger slid inside of her. It made Sarah stifle a little cry, and the same reflex that made her curl inward seemed to make her arch back, hips beginning to move against the friction of his finger. He thrust into her, a wet slide, and Sarah's hand again forgot it's motion. She held his cock in a warm squeeze, her body in a slow writhe.

"You were wet like this, when I first came to you."

That was unexpected. Sarah's eyes opened, her body a wreck of shivers and need. Her hand, attending to his need, had stalled out altogether. She fondled, keeping contact.

"How would you know?" she asked

"I smelled it."

"You _smelled_ it." It was sort of appalling.

He smiled down at her. "Faeries have an excellent sense of smell. I've smelled it on you more than once, since we've been reacquainted. Arousal. But to _feel_ it... how _wet_ you are.... it's very exciting."

All of this, while finger-fucking her. Sarah said, "This begins to feel gynecological."

Jareth laughed, throaty.

"If only, love. I'm dying to make a more thorough investigation."

Yes, that was strange, Sarah thought. Some moments were overwhelming her, slamming her into her whirlwind darkness... but then she'd be back, rather uncomfortably aware of herself, in the midst of a mutual investigation. It wasn't what she'd imagined of passion, exactly.

Jareth coaxed her to her back, the lack of attention at her sex leaving her to feel empty. At a loss. He pushed her legs open, kneeling between them. Sarah wished she was blindfolded, like a skittish horse. To ease the anxiety of being studied, she studied Jareth. It was an easy study to fall into.

... But, _jeez_ , he was so skinny. Like, runway model skinny; hipbones jutting out, body winnowing down at the waist. He wasn't a rippling muscle sort, but his belly was a long, flat board. A shadowy line ran down the center of his body, marking ribcage and abdominal muscle.

All angles and bones, strange eyes and down-turned smile; long, skinny arms and legs; Jareth seemed part alien as well as fae. A weirdly beautiful king, on opioids and Quaaludes, newly hatched from a former life of lace, velvet and lion-headedness.

And, _oh_ , his cock... It looked as though it ached to please. And to be pleased.

His graceful hands, long-fingered, frogged her knees down to the bed. He watched in a hungry way as he stroked up and down, knees to inner thigh and back. His lips were parted, the palms of his hands hot.

"What sorts of things did your courtesan teach you?" Sarah asked. Looking at him was making her breathless. Being _looked_ at was undoing her.

He gave his puckered lip smile, self assured. " _This_ , for one." he purred. "To tease... to delay." With one finger, he drew a circle around her vulva, skimming by but missing the angsty points at top and bottom; nerve wracked clitoris and weeping, aching opening. Long fingers raked her sensitive, inner thighs, tickled the insides of her knees. Sarah felt a clenching at her sex, unbidden. She saw Jareth smile, looking at her, there. Noting her reaction.

"What else?" she whispered.

Meeting her eyes again, he said, "She taught me to pay attention. To reactions, subtle prompts of body and voice. To make an inventory of sensitive place... places that are _too_ sensitive. To notice if a woman is responsive to _voice_ , or if it inhibits her."

Leaning forward, his hands made a warm cupping at the sides of her breasts, then slid down; a firm sweep over ribs, waist and hips. Thumbs digging in deep in the hollows tendons made at her inner thighs, he opened her. His fingers brushed lightly over her sex before he stroked her legs again.

"It seemes like a lot to remember, to note." Sarah said, feeling her hips betray her in a forward tilt. Her sex was so troubled, overwrought. Seeking.

She thought again of how he'd said _he would be her slave_ , and - _oh_ \- it became dirty. It merged so well with the memory of when he'd let her look at him; so hard, eager and submissive. She was open, vulnerable... seen and studied. Yet, still, he was on his knees. She imagined him bending to her, and the soft touch of his tongue to her clitoris. Her pelvis tilted up again, a subtle rock, and she felt wetness start to slide out of her, cooling as it was exposed to air. She saw the flare of his nostrils, the rise and fall of his chest.... the flush there, between his nipples, so dark against his pale skin.

"It can be a lot." He agreed, evidence of the low growl, a rumble beneath his qietly, deep voice. "But it's not a bad thing... otherwise, I'd just thrust at the first sign of pussy, and it would all be over before it ever began."

"Hmm. I guess that's one of those things that crosses all worlds."

"Tis, indeed."

He bent to her, as she'd imagined, his unruly, silky hair falling forward. He kissed low on her belly, just above her pubic hair. A soft, sweet kiss, then his mouth opened. Sarah felt hot breath, and the tip of his tongue drew circles. His hands held her breasts... God, those long arms... he squeezed her, his tongue in a flutter; a terrible tease that seemed to stroke some place deep inside. Sarah moaned, pelvis rocking helplessly, sex aching.

Sitting up, he watched her.... her flush and the motion of her body. His cheekbones were impossible, Sarah thought. His throat such a strong column, his chin dimpled in shadow and pout. His breath came heavy, and after only a moment of study, he bent to her again. His lips, soft and warm, came to suckle at her clitoris, and Sarah's hips nearly rose up from the bed.

He held her hips, fingers digging into her flesh, into the curve of her body; and he kept his kiss light, no matter her urgency. A tease, a butterfly, a soft kiss. His breath whispered against her, his lips, a feathery pursing. When she drew close, her body clenching tight, he withdrew altogether; kissing her inner thighs, her belly, as Sarah sucked in agonized breaths, whimpering.

Moving lower, he _licked_. A firm, wet, muscled licking, lapping at her opening. He groaned aloud, his hips grinding to the bed, and it made Sarah grind against him. Her sex sought his tongue, his chin, a little bristly. He kept his chin in steady contact at her opening, his mouth going back to her clitoris, kissing swollen, fevered folds of flesh along the way.

With his tongue flat, he made a soft lapping at her clitoris. Keening, Sarah's back arched. Her pelvis pressed up to meet his mouth, his tongue.... she rode against his chin, and -as she heard the moan in his throat, the growl in his chest - her body broke. Waves of pleasure raced through her, gripping and then releasing her muscles. Heat flared at the palms of her hands, the soles of her feet; and, reaching down, grasping Jareth's hair, she held his head firm to her sex. Greedy, desperate, she rode against him, her sex convulsing against his chin; his mouth so wet and hot, her clitoris a live, pulsing thing against it.

When she released him, letting go of his hair, she was embarrassed. She breathed shuddering breaths, her eyes closed, feeling mildly ashamed. It was an even stronger, stranger feeling when he made a warm crawl up her body, and his face was against hers. He was redolent of her scent... his mouth, chin and jaw were _glazed_ with her.

But his eyes were so pleased. He brushed his lips to hers, seeming to take pleasure in her increased sensitivity.

"I'm sorry." she whispered.

A vertical crease furrowed his brow, and he said, "For what, Sarah?"

She finched to hear her name. The two syllables were always so deep when he spoke them.

"I... sort of used you for a minute, there. I lost control."

His pursed-lip smile returned, along with the growl. " _Oh_... finally. The relinquishing of control. Although - truthfully, darling - I felt _quite_ controlled there, at the end."

Sarah blushed, and Jareth laughed his rich laugh. The villain laugh. "You can use me however you like, Sarah. You can use me for pleasure... or just to look at me, if that's your desire. You can be a cruel, critical gorgon. I should think it goes without saying... you can fuck with me whenever and however you wish. Tie me up and ride me, sweetheart. Or enslave my mouth to your needs. _Use_ me."

Still blushing, rather furiously, Sarah lowered her eyes, suppressing a smile. She embraced him. her hands stroking his long back, fingers trailing over the slight, but lush, rounding of his butt. His hips moved against her, his mouth kissing softly over her face, finding her mouth.

She loved kissing him... being kissed by him. She'd learned it well, now, and was reluctant for it to ever end. It still struck her... _I'm kissing the Goblin King_... but more than that, it was the way he felt. So attuned; such a live, warm and cuddlesome thing, sensitive to touch and curious about her pleasure.

She reached down between them, holding and stroking his cock, feeling it's steely warmth, wet velour at the tip. He moaned, the kiss deepening, his body moving into the rhythm of her hand. Sarah's need grew with the heat of his urgency... the narcotic feel of his kisses and the sense of a mutual _thrumming_ , a current between and within their bodies. She drew him against the wetness of her sex, rubbing herself against him, hearing a growling whimper in his chest.

The kiss broke as she urged him to her opening. Watching her, propped on his forearm, Jareth pushed inside of her.

"Ow." Sarah said, instantly wishing she'd stop saying it at crucial, heightened moments.

Jareth smiled at her, making his body still.

"Say when, love."

Her eyes closed, Sarah nodded. She used him. Feet flat on the bed, she tilted and rocked her hips, becoming accustomed to the way he filled her, to the stretching of her insides. The spasm of pain, resistance, gave way to pleasure; deep and intense. Jareth drove the feeling, remaining still; but his breath and his moans filled spaces inside her .... she'd not realized the spaces were so empty, touched with yearning, with desire. He kissed against her mouth, even when she was too open-mouthed and overwhelmed to kiss back.

Pulling up her legs up to wrap around his waist, she whispered, _"When! When!"_

She held on. Jareth pushed up on his arms, body rigid, tensed. He thrust so hard, his bones slammed to hers, violent. She opened her eyes, once, vision a blur, and saw his mouth turned down, showing teeth. He grimaced, as if in pain, forehead intense. The thrusting became faster, his eyes closing and the grimace becoming an open-mouthed picture of succumbing.

Gasping, he folded himself to her, cock driving her body; her body clamped to his. Sarah felt darkness rushing up to meet her, to take her; she didn't fight it. She heard herself crying out, her sex in an exquisite squeeze of hot pleasure around his cock. A strange mixture of flesh, pornography, evergreen and spinning crystals filled her mind. Red ribbon and little silver bells. Jareth... pale, naked; laid out on the banquet table, dark and ruddy at cock and nipple, mottled crimson at cheek and chest. She erupted, mind and body alike, and heard his gasp, his voice at her ear, whispering, _"Yes! Yes! Ohhhhh.... fuck!"_

She felt him empty into her, strange with the feeling of her muscles convulsing; both holding tight to his cock and yet squeezing it from her body. Her eyes opened; the room was such a blaze... it seemed like there was fire all around her.

As it settled, his cock still making small motions inside of her, Sarah realized that she hadn't put even one thought into the practical matter of protection. Their combined fluids began to leak from her body, and she closed her eyes again. She held tight to her faerie-demon lover, stroking his hair as he breathed raggedly against her neck.

　

　

　

 


	23. The Fae and the Feral

Her period came the next day, and Sarah stared at the rusty smear on the gusset of her panties, her mind a bit blank. It took a few moments to come back to herself... to pee, and go about the business of fishing a pad from her purse. She did this quietly, creeping about Jareth's apartment in darkness, feeling vaguely criminal.

She was _sore_. She'd never been so sore from sex... she thought she understood, now, the way women seemed pleased when they said they 'could hardly walk.' She could hardly walk, and felt weirdly pleased. Her sex was sore, raw on the inside; her legs, her inner thighs... muscles she hadn't used in a long time complained. While in the bathroom, she'd pressed her fingertips to tender bruises on her inner thighs... Jareth's skinny body and prominent hipbones... pounding and bruising. She felt the echoed pain of the bruises with a bizarre smugness.

The unexpected sight of blood threw her off a bit. The recognition of soreness in her lower belly that might not be from sex, alone. The sensitivity of her skin. On the one hand she felt sad... She hadn't thought any sense of romance could bloom in her increasingly sterile heart, but seeing the blood made her understand that she'd nursed a little hope. Or... more like a thought.

What if, after all of these years of fearfulness and indecisiveness, she became pregnant? With _Jareth's_ baby. How would _he_ feel, to create a little, hybrid being?

On the other hand, she just couldn't imagine pregnancy and childbirth... a woman of uncertain means and future, in her forties. Dear God. After the realization of her carelessness took firm root, her period came with a rush of relief. Now she just had to wait and see if faeries, promiscuous as they seemed, were prone to spreading magical STDs.

She tiptoed back to Jareth's bedroom in her padded panties and one of his white tee-shirts. It was fairly dark in the bedroom, but... there he was. Covers pushed messily down to below his belly button, arms thrown back. It was then that she cursed the blood... as soundly as any witch, she thought. She wanted to wake him, to get him hard. Ride him... use him.

A shiver went through her, and she saw a little glint. His eyes opened.

"Hagatha."

"G.K."

"Come back to bed, love."

She complied, she thought, rather easily. Yes, dear. She crawled under the covers, pressing up against him. His nostrils flared at once, a quick inhalation, and he said, "You're bleeding."

Right. If he could smell arousal, then this was probably a given. "I started my period." Sarah said, feeling like an awkward teenager. Why was she still having a stupid period, anyway, she wondered? Surely any eggs that were remaining were shriveled, decrepit, geriatric little things..... who, if approached by a sperm, would beat it to death with walkers and canes.

Is that what happened? Is that why her period came on? Had it been around 28 days?

Jareth cuddled her, hands moving warmly on her back, under the tee-shirt. Sarah sighed, her body settling to his. She was amazed at how she could fit to him, soft and bony places seeming to meld, shift into coziness.

"You're even softer, now." Jareth murmured. "Your cone-bones. Soft, supple... you're receptive to me."

Sarah stayed quiet, feeling as if he spoke in a mildly scientific way. Would he go on about estrus?

"I don't like the pad." he added. "The scent of it. The feel." His fingers made an alarming prod between her legs, blunted by the pad. "It's a barrier."

Shifting her hips, Sarah said, " _Yeah_... to bleeding all over. It's a necessity."

"Hmph."

She looked up at him. Pouting demon. She touched his down-turned mouth, his soft, bottom lip. He bit lightly against her fingers, then held her wrist. Eyes closed, he sucked her first and second fingers. It was confusingly erotic, as when he'd sucked her toy. Sarah felt herself simmer, watching him.

Releasing her, he pressed his lips to hers. " _Fuck me_." he whispered against her mouth. "Get me bloody."

Her insides surged... she wanted to, so badly. But Sarah said, "Ew. No."

"Oh, Hagatha." He rolled them over so that he was on top of her. He kissed, snuggled; hips grinding, cock seeking. "You can't hide from me, now, love. I _feel_ you... I smell your desire."

"Yeah, but... It doesn't matter. Anyway, Jareth, I'm so sore. I don't think I could take anymore."

He chuckled at that, smug faerie. Sarah felt his hand come between them... he held his cock, rubbing it against her inner thigh. Her insides flip-flopped, and she was too hot. The heat from his body penetrated hers, somehow pooling all along her spine. She had to turn away from his kisses; not in rejection, but seeking cooler air.

"You're so hot." she said.

"Atta girl..." he murmured, nuzzling her neck, hand squeezing her breast. "You do yo thang. Preach, girl. Preach."

Smiling, Sarah said, "Not that kind of hot."

"Oh. How unkind."

"Alright. you _are_ that kind of hot. But you're putting off so much heat."

"I'm excited, love. You've got me _hot_ and bothered. I want to _fuck_."

With a snort, Sarah said, "I'm getting that. If you do it to me again, I'm going to need an icepack."

Propping up on one elbow, he grinned down at her... mouth all upside down, insinuating, self-assurance. "I told you I was big, Sarah."

"You did. And then there's my born again virginity."

"Mmm... it made you all the more sensitive. Responsive. _Wet_." He seemed happy in the re-living.

His hand sidled beneath the waistband of her panties, and Sarah clenched her thighs together. "Don't." she said.

"Oh, but I think I should."

Annoyed now, her annoyance pushing through her intrigue, Sarah wriggled out from beneath him. She gave his hand a little-old-lady slap, making him grin even wider, and she left the bed. She looked back, not without regret. Look at him. Covers turned back; long, glimmeringly pale body, cock - up and eager. He smiled at her, propped on his side.

"I'm naughty, am I?" he mused.

Sarah stepped into her jeans, feeling more secure as she buttoned and zipped.

"You are." she confirmed.

"Oh, Hagatha. You don't know what you do to me, darling. Your scold ways and your softening bones..."

"... You just want me to _noodle_ about town..."

"Your cross words and sexual _scent_."

Sitting on the edge of the bad, Sarah looked at him a long moment. She couldn't stop her hand; it reached to him, caressing over his bony hip, dipping down his waist. His eyes held hers, observing; she encircled his cock, stroking slowly.

"Oh, _I'm_ naughty." he said.

"You are."

"I see."

His hips began to move with her, and Sarah felt her breath get caught up in her chest and throat. Jareth, breathy as well, said, "Why do you always fight me, Sarah? I know you want me."

His eyes on hers stayed steady, only closing briefly as little bursts of pleasure went through him.

"I'm not fighting you. Or hadn't you noticed."

"Well."

"I'm just sore. From _this_ thing." She gave a rather fond squeeze. "And it doesn't excite me to... 'get you bloody' "

"It excites me." he purred. He rolled to his back, giving her better access. Sarah shifted on the bed, getting closer to him. She began to tease, to explore... she caressed over the downy sack beneath his cock, his inner thighs. She watched his belly tremble, color at his chest.

"Why does it?" she asked.

Still watching her, he said, "It's my nature, love. Fae. I'm more feral than people here... hence, the sense of smell and whatnot. I'm more connected to scent... to internal tides. You're bleeding _because_ of me, and that excites me, so."

How did that make any sense? Sarah stroked over less volatile places; belly, chest. Jareth's hand came to rest on her knee, putting off heat, like the rest of him. It seemed true enough that her blood had raised his internal temperature.

"I don't understand." she said.

"My seed inside of you..." Jareth seemed to have a little jolt of pleasure, saying the words. He lost the thread.  Sarah felt it, too, and her eyes closed for a moment. She let him guide her hand back down, and she held his cock, blazing hot. She stroked up, down; her palm wet from his excitement.

_"Oh... yes."_ he breathed. His hand returned to her knee, squeezing convulsively. His other hand gripped the bed as his hips rocked. Sarah felt his heat infect her, her lips swell.

She leaned to kiss him, her senses overwhelmed with scent and touch. With heat... with the sounds he made, moans and gasping breath... breath that caught as she kissed softly over his face, his jaw; her hand working him.

When her mouth came again to his, she felt as if the scent that drowned her was one of sexual obsession... it was hard to pin down. It was the smoky warmth of his skin mixed with the tobacco of the cigarettes he rolled. It was the scent, surely dreamt, of evergreens... of the honeyed drinks and sugared cakes of the banquet table.

Defiled innocence.... enslavement to pleasure...

In came from him in waves, heat waves, and passed into her. Like his seed. Maybe it was his magic. She felt her bleeding grow abruptly heavy, glad for the pad and her jeans. She cramped, abdomen tender and skin too sensitive... maybe a low-grade fever. It was confused with pleasure; his pleasure and her own. She felt a vibration in her throat as she moaned into his mouth.

_"Oh... yes..."_ His hand covered hers, and he made her hold on him firmer. He made the stroke faster.

Sarah leaned back a little, watching his impassioned face... watching their hands on the blur of his cock, his tensed and rigid muscles. His legs, wide apart, tensed, long toes digging into the bed, hips in an insistent rocking. God.... she _wanted_ him. She wanted more that the gratification of feeling him inside of her.... she wanted, somehow, to possess him. To claim him.

She turned back to his face... His head was thrown back, brow furrowed, eyes closed. His mouth was open, and she bent to it, nuzzling her lips to his. In a strange, rushing, voluptuous spill of power, she whispered, "You're so pretty, Jareth... I want you to come for me."

_"Ohhh... fuck..."_ he groaned. She felt his hand on hers close, vice-like. The steely flesh in her palm expanded, pulsed... it convulsed and he spurted ropes of pearly come onto his flushed belly; he gasped and whimpered as his body emptied.

His body, with an abruptness, relaxed; heat diminishing. His legs collapsed, splayed and sexy. His shoulders slumped into the bed; his head rolled to the side, facing her. His eyes were still closed. Ragged breaths made his chest rise and fall.

Sarah felt as if she couldn't speak. He was such a thing of beauty to her... maybe more so, now, than when she was a girl.

She made herself whisper, "Better?"

A slow smile came, but his eyes remained closed.

"Oh, Morticia."

　

 


	24. The Unicorn

Sarah still didn't get it. He'd explained it. He'd even used the word, 'estrus', as she had foreseen. He said, amongst the Fae, a bonding could happen... Sarah could only see it as something from the animal kingdom. An impermanent connection, related only to breeding. But Jareth said it meant more to the Fae.

When the connection was established, as had happened less and less amongst the Fae, the seed of the male brought on the female's cycle. It was her response to him, part of her bonding. While Sarah had images of female dogs in heat, (and, from the pet store where she'd once worked, with the ballsy mice, images of 'Bitches Britches'), it didn't make sense to her from a fertility standpoint. And... well. Faerie had died out. Her belly clenched at the thought.... if she lingered there, a full blown migraine would ensue.

How strange, in an age of overpopulation, genetic engineering, 'octo-moms' and such, to think that a race had died out... in part a magical death, and in part for lack of fertility.

While the unclear explanation took Sarah to a not-unusual place of maudlin thought, it clearly made Jareth gleeful. No matter her stance, her mood, he considered her _his_ , now. She felt like his name had been stamped on her butt. Though a less lordly, dominant figure than in her youth, he still managed to convey his ownership of her; both to her and to anyone else around.

He did it happily, hands possessive on her. He kissed her incessantly, sweetly or wetly, until she was dizzy, confused; not as smart as she used to be. He made statements to other people about one thing or another, followed by, "Isn't that right, Sarah?" He would pull her to him as she doltishly smiled her concurrence; part of the G.K. Team. Sometimes she hadn't even heard the conversation... maybe she should _not_ concur. Maybe she should say, _No, you overly flamboyant refugee of Fae; that isn't right._

There must be _some_ truth to the bonding, bleeding thing, for she never did that. As soon as she was pressed close to him, his arm around her, safe within his scent and warmth; she simply smiled at whomever spoke. Yes, that's right. I concur. I'm his, you see.

\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Curled up on her loveseat, they watched 'Legend' on her computer. Jareth loved movies, especially fantasy movies with lots of special effects. Even when their mythologies differed from what he considered 'real', (all relative from Sarah's perspective), he still loved them. 'Legend' was a favorite.

He spooned her, his body warm behind hers. Sarah curled into him, dozing off every now and again. She woke, feeling the hard press of him, a tell-tale grinding, his hand moving from her abdomen to her breast.

She became re-attuned to the movie.... Lili, in her dark, Goth attire; changed since her dance with her darker side; magic Sarah understood..... Lili called for the unicorn's throat to be opened.

_"Are you so eager to see blood flow?"_ Darkness asked her.

Jareth rocked against her bottom; subtle, but very noticeable. His hand squeezed her breast. It made a blank sort of question mark in Sarah's mind.

_"As eager as you are to drink it!"_

Sarah lost the thread for a moment, warmed by Jareth's arousal... but puzzled by it. She felt his lips, soft and heated at the crook of her neck, kissing to her shoulder and back to her neck. His hand, under her shirt, pinched and rolled her nipple. It made her hips press back, reflexively, and he made a soft moan at her ear.

Lili said, _"I want to kill the unicorn!"_

Jareth paused in his attentions, transfixed by the screen. Sarah watched, too. She knew, of course, the declaration was Lili's ruse. Jareth knew as well. But it was arresting... Lili's victorious, hopeful and sensual smile; and _Darkness_.... a frightful, bull-devil depiction of a demon... completely overcome by Lili's statement. By her apparent conversion to... _evil_. His throat worked and his eyes went from amazement, to malevolent glee, to unbridled lust... all as he slowly erupted into malign laughter. All in the name of slaughtering the innocent and extinguishing light.

Jareth moaned, hoisting Sarah's leg back over his hip, getting his fingers under the elastic of her panties and moaning again to feel her wetness. She was aroused by her closeness to him, to his growing, unexpected excitement; but she felt confused... nagged as to what might have caused it in the first place.

Arching back, turning somewhat to look at him, she asked, "Did _that_ turn you on?" 'Legend', for crying out loud?

He was too overwhelmed for conversation. She heard the zipper on his neat khakis unzip. "I have to have you." he murmured. _"Right now."_

Roughly, he pulled the gusset of her panties to the side, and pushed, _slid_ into her. She was lost for words or breath, and her blood surged as his moan became a growl. He held her leg, fingers hurtful at her inner thigh. She felt his teeth close on her neck, and his hips thrust, cock driving up into her.

His arm, beneath her, encircled her fully, his hand coming to close over her throat. Sarah was feverishly excited, her body climbing and her blood ringing in her ears... and yet she couldn't get away from the niggling question of what brought on the mad rutting.

_I want to kill the unicorn._

\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

She returned from the bathroom, grumbling to herself. It would appear she was just going to let Jareth come inside of her, no protection, whenever the mood struck. How had she changed so much? She veered off to her bedroom to get some pajama bottoms; her nighttime uniform, Jareth said. Clearly, she couldn't be trusted when lounging about in her underwear.

Stepping into her strawberry bottoms, she hoped she hadn't set herself up to bleed again. Did Jareth actually want her to transform into this brainless, anemic, Stepford... unicorn killer?

In her small living room, Jareth sprawled on the loveseat, unzipped but tucked in. he looked enormously pleased with himself. 'Legend' had ended; he'd popped in 'The Witches of Eastwick', (he _loved_ Daryl Van Horne; surprise, surprise), and was holding the remote, ready to press 'play' when Sarah returned.

She stared at him, stupefied. Jareth, the Goblin King. Of Fae nobility. She'd just been nailed, in the quick and brutish manner of lions on 'Wild Kingdom", by this alien who was more comfortable in her world than herself. He'd done it to her while wearing a pink, Chambray shirt and his socks of a horizontal, multi-colored stripe; yellow, violet, sky blue and a narrow ribbon of neon, lime green. At least he was rumpled, undone. Hair messy. He looked liked he'd smoked a doobie.

He held the little, Bic-sized remote with the casual competence in which he might wield a wand. It's workings were no mystery to him. He smiled at her, so happy that he showed bottom teeth, like he might crack up. Skeleton man. Cadaver Dan. The joke was on her.

"Uh-oh." he said, with what Sarah might note as a _snicker_." Morticia's in a snit."

Ignoring his obvious delight in messing with her, post one-more-step-to-becoming-Jareth's-bitch, she put her hand on one, strawberry clad hip.

She said, "I would _never_ kill a unicorn."

Oh, good. If only her co-workers, her parents could hear her, now. Of late, everyone was acting as though she'd turned a corner. She was easier to be around, perhaps more normal. It was funny, considering.

If anything, Jareth's smile deepened. It was a little scary. The snicker escaped again, and Sarah sniffed the air. _Had_ he smoked weed?

He swung himself into a more conventional, sitting upright position, and said "I know that, Sarah." He was too delighted, though. She'd heard the same, not really sorry tone when he'd once said, _You're no match for me, Sarah._ "You'd never kill a unicorn, you wouldn't abandon a baby; you'd live in confusion and squalor rather than succumb to your deep desire for magic." He grinned.

" _Why_ did it excite you so much?" she couldn't quite reference the movie by name, with it's version of faeries and goblins. What would Ridley Scott think of this late development of his movie as an aphrodisiac?

" _Why_ does it bother you?" Jareth countered, still happy. It was difficult to ruffle his feathers. Sarah acknowledged to herself that she wanted to... Sometimes she wanted to put him in his place and watch him transition into his mode of pretty submission... But it had been harder and harder to do since she'd bled.

" _Because_ ," she snapped, "it was a scene of _evil_. It was a scene where the bad guy thought he'd turned Lili. Corrupted her."

"Oh, stop it, darling. You're getting me hard again."

Sarah stomped her foot, and Jareth erupted into his rich laughter. "You're too easy, Morticia."

"You're a dick."

"Oh, come, come, Tish. Come sit on daddy's lap."

The face Sarah made was as appalled as if she'd uncovered a casserole dish, expecting to find homemade macaroni and cheese; but instead found a dish of dead rat and larvae.

" _Daddy_?" As if.

He tilted his head, studying her with his curious smile. "I remember." he said. "One must not reveal villainous tendencies, nor must one reference anything remotely Humbert Humbert. Your rules and regulations, darling, are exhausting."

"Only if you find them difficult to follow. Only if you're evil. And a pervert."

"You accuse me of both on a regular basis, so it must be true. And yet... it would seem you like me anyway, love."

Why? Why did he have to have a deep, resonant voice? Why did he have to have a soft growl in his chest, amused eyes and a turned-down smile? Why had these things sunk their hooks so deeply into her? Why was it so much harder to defy him, now, than when she was young?

"Would you do it?" she asked. "Would you kill a unicorn?" Would you step on a crack, leave Tinkerbell without applause? Delight when mermaids dissolve into foam in the ocean?

He tamed his smile. His head still tilted, he seemed - still - to study her. he said, "No, I wouldn't, Sarah. If there were any. They've quite gone the way of the Faerie, and well before us, I might add. And they weren't those great, muscled horses you people like to think... they were delicate things, more akin to deer... in all shades. Dappled things, blending to shadow and light, and so filled with magic. They were part of magic's mystery, and their parting was a harbinger for the rest of us. Not unlike the various species that regularly fall off the map, here; which your kind seems happy enough to ignore."

Sarah felt herself still inside. She didn't want him to seduce her with depth; magic. With lost unicorns and a dying world. He understood where she was susceptible.

"Then why?" she asked.

"Why did I fuck you?" The pursed smile, turned down at the corners. He understood the parts of her that responded to his crude words, his soft voice, as well. Sarah only nodded.

His hips shifted in a lazy, contented way, one hand smoothing over his thigh. He watched Sarah register his body language; his sated but interested, lounging cat pose.

"Because, love." he said. "You were pressed up against me, responding to my presence behind you. Because your bum was moving against me like an invitation, even when you thought you were being still. I could feel the heat of your pussy... And then... the illusion of Lili _succumbing_ , the illusion of _pleasure_ in it, and the delight it caused her captor... I rather relived what we'd done at my apartment. I admit, I had a fantasy of you succumbing that way, when you were a girl and I came to you."

"You wanted that, didn't you?"

"Of course I did. You know that... There's no need for your self-righteousness, love. Your outcry of 'pervert'. You wanted it, too. You were just fearful from inexperience and mindful of the baby."

Mindful of the baby. Of unicorns. And here they were, set to watch another movie where a villain marched towards manifesting his agenda.

"Jareth... What do you want from me?"

He looked surprised by that, which was somehow reassuring. Frowning, he said, "I don't know, Sarah... just the things we want from those we connect to, I suppose. I want your company, your friendship." Smiling, he added, "I want sex with you. A lot of it... I think we should play with your toy in a bit."

She felt herself blush, looking down. She couldn't help it... she relented her rigid stance; after all, she was supported by softening bones. She consented to his earlier request, and crossed the small space to sit on his lap. He folded his arms around her, enveloping her in a smoke scent; voluptuous bourbon vetiver; tobacco and vanilla.

"That's it, love." he murmured. He kissed along her jaw.

"You're not trying to... _gain_ something from me?" Sarah asked. "You're not furthering some evil plot... using me to it's end?"

Smiling at her, embodying a mildly joyful evil, Jareth said, "Of course I am, Morticia. Let's go get your toy, and see what can be done towards that advancement."

 


	25. Sympathy for the Devil

Work became difficult; more so. It felt to Sarah as if she was becoming more herself, and - probably - she wasn't in the right place for it.

One of her co-workers brought up 'Harry Potter'. Sarah, of course, had read all of the books, seen the movies... How could it be any other way? She was familiar enough with the church-driven municipality to know that 'Harry Potter' would be frowned upon, though a work of fiction.

She hadn't known that there had been a push, unsuccessful, to ban the books from the local schools and libraries. She listened to the discussion amongst her co-workers, all women; all mothers and wives. Some only made brief statements, such as, "No. That's not my thing. That's freaky stuff." Others were far more vocal, speaking damningly of witches, and other manifestations of evil.

What's wrong with me, Sarah thought? She felt herself tense up, belly tight, jaw a little painful. She should just be herself, express her opinion, no matter what. The urge to do so was even stronger now that she remembered... she _knew_. She knew about other worlds, magic. She had a faerie lover.

She knew, also, that she was already seen as a little subversive, simply by remaining silent. By not offering her two cents; by not being herself. Though she'd made a little headway, a comfort zone, she was still an outsider with these women. She could never invite one over to her hovel... Though it looked childish to her, it would be damning.

It had been three years...

When the loudest of the women said something about the devil being everywhere, Sarah sighed. She couldn't stop herself. She gave what she hoped was a warm smile, and said, "The books aren't really like that, Jill."

Well, it was out. She may as well have proclaimed allegiance to Aleister Crowley or Anton Lavey, though she didn't think these women would be familiar with the names. It would be suspicious that she _was_...

Side-stepping the religious theme of her diatribe, Jill said, "But there's child abuse in those books. The boy starts out living in a closet."

Sarah said, "When you were little, did you like Cinderella? Snow White? Hansel and Gretel? All of the old favorites are _rife_ with child abuse. Harry Potter, as in those stories, overcomes adversity. In his case, he's a protected child, and the protection comes from the power of his mother's love." Something of which she knew little.

The room became uncomfortable, and Sarah regretted the small moment; the tiniest amount of suppression lifted. Seeking to relieve the tension, she smiled again. "But it's just fiction." she said. "Fantasy. I understand if you don't want your kids to read it..." No, she didn't. She was lying, back-pedaling. "But it's just a tale, like faerie tales."

Jill smiled as well, everyone aware that work must continue. People must work together. She said, not harshly, "Whatever. They should probably do away with all of it. None of it's Christian."

\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Now they didn't speak to her. They used to at least say, "Hi. Happy Friday!" Or, "At least it's hump day." Something which amused Jareth as if he were a teenaged boy. They glanced her way, they gave non-committal smiles and said, "hello". But she was back at the start... Back at her arrival, three years gone; the Newcomer. With no clear church affiliation, no ready reference to who her 'people' were. Suspect and untrustworthy.

... Because of 'Harry Potter'?

\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The same day as the 'Harry Potter' talk, there was a storm. It was sudden, the bright sky darkening out of nowhere, the wind picking up. The air cooled, a rapid drop in temperature, and thunder rolled and rumbled. Sarah, fueled by her renewed shunning, felt homesick. Even in the building, a FEMA-like structure that surely was home to mold and asbestos, she could smell the oncoming rain. She could smell the hope of all that was green, giving up it's mineral breath to the sky... opening. The soft water scent of clouds, pregnant with waiting.

There was a whole season of this where she'd lived, before moving to the mountains. Hours in the day when time seemed to slow, the air hushed as rains gathered. Hours of portent; dreaminess.

When the rain came, it was a quick, unpredicted downpour. There was hail. Her co-workers were abuzz, all speaking rapidly of their cars in the parking lot, all texting spouses and children. Sarah stared out the window, her eyes absorbing the abrupt darkness. She watched the water come down at a hard slant; the occasional, popcorn-like bounce of hail. She wondered if it was storming at Crones and Bones; if Jareth watched it. She felt the homesick feeling, but was aware there was no 'home' to go back to.

\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Later, she had doubt. It was because of 'The Witches of Eastwick".... her tradition of being informed by fiction undaunted by the 'Harry Potter debacle.

She'd pointed out to Jareth that he seemed to love the villains in the movies they watched together. He cheerfully rooted for them, even though they were not typically the winners. He pointed out to her that these were _her_ movies... those she'd collected on DVD and kept, over the years. Whether or not she actually rooted for them, these were stories of villains... or centered around them. Or simply around magic. She was drawn to them, as she was drawn to magic. (He considered both the dragon and the old wizard to be the villains of 'Dragonslayer', as they were the race left behind, stamped out. As his was.)

Now, after 'Harry Potter' and the storm that left her feeling forlorn, Sarah thought it was true. She had sympathy for the devil. As did Jareth, as he grinned through Daryl Van Horne's tirade about God and women. ('Women: a mistake? _Or did he do it to us on purpose?!'_ ) (He was also fond of, 'I always like a little pussy after lunch.')

For Sarah, in 'The Witches of Eastwick', the draw was the way Daryl seduced his 'witches', each one in turn, by showing them that they were _seen_. She fought tears when he seduced the first, Alexandra; not wanting Jareth to see how it affected her. The simple truth of it. Daryl questioning Alex's happiness, saying, "Pretending to be somebody else? pretending to be half of what you are? How long can you last like that?"

Her sympathy wasn't what her co-workers would think. It wasn't sympathy in the sense of opposing God and His works. It wasn't tolerance of or approval of doing harm... murder, rape... the horrors of the world. She saw the devil as an amalgam of all sorts of older deities, folklore, all come together in a figure that wasn't illustrated quite as clearly in biblical literature. Patched together by men, clergy, so that there was a clear adversary to God. The hijacking of older beliefs and ghostly figures also served to oppress them... magic was stolen. Faces, figures died out and were forgotten, part of a 'never-were'. In their places was something, clear; back and white: Evil.

Jareth loved to watch Jack Nicholson, expounding as Daryl in the church.

'What's the matter? You don't think God makes mistake? 'Course he does... we _all_ make mistakes. Of course, when _we_ make mistakes... they call it _evil._ When _Goddddd_ makes mistakes, they call it... _nature_.'

Sarah loved it, too. She knew - in a way that separated her from her co-workers - that she identified. She was one of the little people... the forgotten, the forsaken. The lost and the lonely. She was familiar with the malleable nature of truth, as those in power put their spin on it.

But then there was Felicia. Of Eastwick. Poor, Cassandra figure that she was. She was a true prophetess, and died for it. She saw the malevolence that existed in the devilish figure of Daryl Van Horne, and she saw his agenda. She saw that her husband would succumb to evil, by homicide; and she saw that the 'witches' would bear sons to Daryl... increasing his number. She saw everything, but she sounded like such an embarrassing, over-the-top, religious nut-job; no one would listen.

Sarah thought, what if she was like one of the Eastwick witches? What if she was just so happy to be _seen_ ; to be challenged and stimulated; that she was overlooking some slippery, sneaky but fundamental element of evil? What if the Jills of the world were right, and all of the fiction, the fantasy, was only making it easier for people to get lazy...? To warm up to a casual, lax acceptance of evil, allowing it even more of a foothold in the world. Inviting it... Calling; as she had.

Jill could be Felicia... belatedly seen by Sarah to have been right, all along. Sarah could be a witch; hungry for magic, for a 'home', willfully overlooking the obvious.

She thought of Jareth, mimicking Daryl... giving her his smile-frown, holding her, soothing her in bed. " 'We don't deal the deck, down here. We just play the percentages.' "

She balked. If Jill was in the right, she wasn't sure she cared. She couldn't believe it was right, it was good, for faerie to fade from the world. For _magic_ to fade. She just couldn't. She thought she could see, clearly, where she stood.

 


	26. Friday the 13th

It was Friday the thirteenth. Sarah's co-workers left room in their system of beliefs for superstition, and they wore wide-eyed or clouded faces, half joking.

It took everything Sarah had to keep quiet. Some Kindergarten, _look at me!_ part of herself wanted to say that Friday, like several of the weekdays, was named for a Nordic god; in this case Freya, a goddess. The lone goddess of the week, so far as Sarah knew. And 13 was her favored number... so really, the day should be auspicious. Lucky.

But she kept quiet. What was the point? She would influence no one; and so what if she did? She didn't really want them _looking_ at her, no matter the desires of her prissy, bossy, five year old self.

"How cross you are." Jareth observed, when he saw her after work. He brought her cafe au lait in her favorite shop-cup; a big, rounded mug, printed brightly with Van Gogh's 'Starry Night'.

Customers milled about Crones and Bones, and Sarah's work experience made her wonder how long it would be before they stood outside, holding Christian message signs. Discretely, under a section of lavishly decorated journals and stationery, Jareth had begun to carry a few Tarot decks.

Was he _trying_ to be driven out? To be ostracized?

Shaking her head, Sarah said, "I'm sorry. I guess work is making me more of a bitch than usual."

"Ah, Tish." He leaned close, touching fingertips and thumb to her face; her chin and jaw. "Fuck them, if they can't take a joke."

His words were silly, almost meaningless. But his touch, his eyes holding hers made Sarah feel that she wasn't alone. She wasn't _in it_ alone, this world. It was a feeling so alien, it nearly brought tears.

She nodded, looking down to the colors of 'Starry Night.' Jareth got up to be a store owner, and Sarah watched Oscar. He always knew when she was there. He stood, very upright, ears forward, in the doorway of the bookstore. Sarah raised an eyebrow, indicated her lap, and watched as his eyes clearly showed a decision making process. He gave wary looks about, then crossed into the cafe and ran on quick tip-toes until he leapt into her lap.

"Hello, sweet-pea." Sarah murmured, listening to his purr as he circled in her lap, getting comfortable. He kneaded as she pet him. Every so often a little, needle toe poked through her work pants. Oh, to be a cat.

Jareth, Mr. Spiffy, returned. He wore loose, black trousers; a crisp, white shirt, rolled up at the sleeves; and braided black suspenders. His shoes were a pointed, lace up, glossy black; and when he sat down, crossing his legs, Sarah saw that his socks were bright red. They matched a carnation tucked into the braid of his suspenders.

"I see you've been joined by your _true_ love."

"Yes." Sarah said, feeling the jump in Oscar's purr when Jareth scratched his head. He stole a quick kiss from her, in his lean to pet Oscar. A lips-warmed-from-coffee kiss, both bitter and sweet.

Sarah had wanted to ask something for a long while, but was afraid. She was still afraid, but work had put her in a mindset of... what does it matter? Her moroseness, she knew, could get a bit out of control. Only the night before she'd watched an episode of Firefly, and had felt a shuddering inside when Mal told Inara, 'Everybody dies alone.'

She hadn't been alone. She'd been in Jareth's big chair, cuddled in his lap. She only half heard the T. V., for her ear had been pressed to his chest. She was filled with the cavernous, ocean-like sound of his body, the steady waves of his blood, his heartbeat. His heart sounded so strong.

In spite of his arms around her, she'd thought; it's true. Damn it. No matter our connections, no matter how we strive to know one another, we're all alone. We face the unknown, alone. It's just the way it is.

Work had messed her up.

Looking at Oscar, she asked, "What happened to my friends in the Labyrinth? Hoggle, and everyone. Are they gone, too?"

She swallowed. With memory restored, she knew they'd stayed in her life, for a time. As she'd asked.... she'd needed them to. And then it became too hard... she couldn't straddle both worlds. Her failure to adapt, to make friends, to _succeed_ in her own world was more pronounced than ever. Then she was on medication, and they just faded out of her life.

She looked up at him, and he was smiling a contemplative smile at her. His hand, laying on the table, was near her, fingers curled.

"I wondered when you'd ask." he said. "All of your little figures in clay, so many of your sketches call them to mind for me. I couldn't imagine you'd forgotten entirely."

When he didn't continue, Sarah said, "Well?"

"Well... They're fine, Morticia. I imagine they miss you, fond of you as they became. But no, they're not gone.... They're not Fae, you know. Not even Goblin, but rather all sorts of hybrids. You know from your science that bloodlines are strengthened from diversifying the gene pool, and that's the story of your friends. Those halfling bugaboos. They raised a statue, you know."

"A statue?"

His smile became a grin. He raised his hands and gazed up, as if beholding a marquee. "Sarah the Valorous! It's really something. It's carved in granite and it's a mite sturdier than I recall your girlhood self... Sarah meets Dorothy Gale. It stands outside what was once my castle, gazing to the east, so that it's bathed in light each morning."

"You're kidding." Sarah was lack jawed.

"No love, I am not. It was actually quite vexing to me in the beginning. A rather cruel mocking. It's grown on me, though. And now that the Labyrinth and the city is ruled by a democracy of Goblins and Halflings, your Hoggle one of the heads of counsel, there are all sorts of things named for you. The castle has a Sarah wing. Squares... courtyards..."

_"Why?"_ She couldn't believe it. Here, she pondered dying alone, as inspired by a space Western. Over there she was a .... hero?

"You _freed_ them, Morticia. And apparently infected them with your sense of what is _fair._ You gave them courage... showed them the power of sticking together. When my magic failed, when you weakened it with your words, another Fae could have stepped in to dictate. Or some other being of power, with magic darker than mine. But your friends learned from you, and they stood together. They wouldn't allow it. So the castle and the land is theirs, now."

Sarah's eyes darted up to see an older woman, standing nearby and looking puzzled. Kim Rogers, pale pink blouse and white slacks; the women of seven, tiny municipalities all shopped at Belk.

Jareth followed her gaze, and rose, smiling his happy, engaging smile. "Practicing for a play." he said, all British, tongue-in-cheek charm. "What can I do for you, my dear?"

 


	27. Crystal Gazing

When he returned to the table, having seen off the Belk woman with a macchiato and a bagful of Aphrodite Love Cakes, Sarah asked, "How do you know all of that? About my friends?"

_Presto_ , a crystal ball appeared in his hand and was rolled about, in the magical, gravity defying way he had. Sarah jumped a bit, looking around for customers. Oscar made a sound, closed mouthed and inquiring. A second crystal joined the first, and they did a carousel dance on his fingertips.

"Same as always." He said.

Same as always, Sarah was entranced by the crystals, as if hypnotized. He'd told her, a long time ago, they would show her her dreams. She hadn't figured that out, but - as he made the spheres move and dance - their subtle shift of sparkle and depth seemed to draw her in. It was like falling, but in a cushioned, slow motion.

Oscar, not bothering to leave the comfort of his curl on her lap, raised his paw, as if to swat at the crystals. Jareth said, " _Oh-ho_ , fine fellow."

"So... you spy?" Sarah finally asked. It was hard to come out of the soft fall.

"I do, Tish. I'm a terrible voyeur... I always have been. Sometimes I just glance down at the odd cup of tea, and there's a little scene. Unbidden."

"But how?" Sarah wondered. "I've never understood how you're able to do that."

He shrugged, and a third crystal appeared. He used both hands, then, and the crystals seemed to follow a cat's cradle sort of path. Sarah thought she heard a faint singing, like when people made music on the rims of wine glasses. Like that which some claimed to hear when viewing the Northern Lights.

"It's innate, I suppose. Part of being from a magical race. Although I think you could learn, Sarah. You're partway there, now... the way you drift with the motion."

With a soft laugh, Sarah said, "I will _never_ be able to do _that_." She indicated the dancing, revolving spheres.

It caught her again... a gleam, a deepening of shadow that seemed odd in such a polished sparkle of quartz. The shadows, moving about Jareth's elegant hands, pulled her in. For a moment, Sarah found herself thinking of Stevie Nicks.

Okay, she thought. But there she was, Stevie, costumed from Sarah's girlhood days, when she'd so loved Heart and Stevie Nicks... witchy women, she thought. She, herself, had taken to running around, dressed like a cross between a 70s rock star and a Renaissance Faire escapee. Flower bedecked hats, shawls and skirts that twirled around a assortment of granny boots. The memory startled her, for she was so stoic, now. So sparse. The shorter hair she'd worn for years... jeans, tees. The sensible slacks and jackets she wore at work. Only the occasional brooch, or a bracelet with accents of moonstone might give any indication of the state of her insides. Of who she once was.

"You see?" Jareth said, his deep voice startling her. She realized she'd actually been hearing the music... _'I've always held the wind, but I let the wind steal my power...'_ "You're already lost in reverie." Voice deepening further, he added, " _Old passions_. It's not far to go from there to dreams, and then - perhaps - to seeing possibilities of what might be."

"And spying? Looking in on others?"

"That's a bit harder." Jareth admitted. "Maybe. In the beginning, it takes time just to sort out wishes, dreams, memory.... In my world, imagination was as strong as any other part of reality. We didn't have to take such pains to winnow out fact, because everything was so fluid. Imagination and magic fed one another, a part of the same thing. It's a bit different, here."

"Is it ever."

"And there's my eye." He winked his darker eye. "It _sees_."

Sarah watched, still very much entranced. Stevie Nicks had loosened her hold, and Sarah saw her even younger self.... Chests full of costumes... faeries, princesses. Crowns and wreaths of flowers for her hair. Magic wands and her favorite necklace; a tiny pendant in the shape of a glittery, blue star. She'd been preparing to be a faerie paramour for quite some time.

Oscar gave one of his mew-burp sounds, with a head bob that seemed to say, "Yo. Heads up." Sarah saw people emerging from the junk store, which was morphing into a slightly subversive gift shop. Nodding towards them, she flashed her eyes at Jareth and said, "Stop playing with your balls."

All but one disappeared, and he gave her a scathingly naughty look. Pursed lips, curling to a wicked smile. A bad boy, mischievous Robin Goodfellow.

"Stop it." she blushed, though her choice of words had been deliberate.

With a considering look, Jareth said, "Perhaps we can agree that _you_ might play with them, at a later time."

Sarah neither consented nor declined, which she found he tended to interpret as a 'yes'. He held his hand out to her, the crystal sphere balanced on the tips of his fingers and thumb.

"What do you say, love?" he proposed. "There's no baby at stake. No kingdom, no struggle for power. It's just us. Will you accept my gift?"

Hunger, passion welled up in Sarah. She'd wanted very little, for so long. She'd thought she'd lost the feel for desire, for caring. She'd thought she'd died. She wasn't going to let magic pass her by, again.

Reaching to meet his hand, she - at last - held the little sparkle and depth in the palm of her own hand. She stared at it, feeling it's tug deep in her mind. Then she looked up at Jareth.... In his eyes, darkness and light were at war. He was pleased she'd taken his offering. He cared for her; it was plain. Still... Sarah could see the unicorn killing lust of Darkness; the baby-making glee of Daryl Van Horne. He was fighting with those parts of himself.

Sarah accepted those parts, and his fight. Cautiously, she trusted. She was, she thought, more his kind than her own.

"Thank you." she said.

 


	28. Cock

"I miss the rooster." Sarah said.

She was blissed out, in a twilight state, such as that delivered by top-notch anesthesiologists. Jareth had arranged her so that she lay on her stomach, two pillows propped under her pelvis, raising up her bottom. She was, of course, suspicious of this arrangement. She'd protested it's lack of dignity.

But now she was boneless. Well past the softening stage. For nearly an hour, she guessed, Jareth had stroked and massaged her back, her shoulders. His hands slid warmly up her arms, massaged into the bones of her hands and fingers. He kneaded her buttocks, pressing in with strong fingers. He'd caressed and pet for so long, Sarah feared she wasn't fully coherent. Occasionally, there were visions.

Once in awhile his fingers, even his tongue, made a brief, feathery stop at her sex. Or he lay over her, his naked skin so soft and warm against hers, and rocked his hips gently, cock nudging against her.

"How can you miss him, love? He's right here."

He punctuated this with a bite to her butt, then a teasing, little lick between her legs. His hands kneaded firmly at her hamstrings. Sarah was so confused... she was uncertain if she wanted sleep or sex. In any case, either would be filled with complete surrender, a cocooning of dreams. She tilted her hips up, opened her legs a little wider.... his soft, warm tongue so close to the low simmer, the ache that was her clitoris. Then it was gone, and she felt his mouth open just under one buttock; teeth closed in a bite.

She felt a little spasm, a contraction in her sex, and a quiet moan escaped her lips. Jareth slapped one cheek, and said, "Greedy." It did little to discourage her.

"Turn over." he said, a quiet growl.

".... can't.... move..."

" _Oh_... greedy _and_ lazy. Let me appeal directly to your clit, Morticia. I can reach it better if you turn over."

It was a good argument, but still Sarah couldn't move. She groaned, eyes closed. Surely he could make it work as she was... He was good. He'd been tutored. She felt him stand on the bed. It always surprised her a little... sometimes he moved about by walking over beds or couches, something she hadn't done since childhood. He stood over her, feet on either side, and leaned down to coax.

"Come on, Tish." he grunted, surprisingly strong arms assisting her to flip over. It felt odd, the pillows stacked beneath her hips. Her weight fell back to her shoulders, breasts rolling back as well. Pillows supported her lower back and pelvis, and - after a moment - Sarah thought she might never have been so comfortable. Her legs, pleasantly weighty, fell to the support of the bed, bones like Jello.

There was a moment, too, of seeing Jareth above her, in his stance. He was quite lordly. Kingly. From her perspective, he was towering above, cock ready to rule the masses. His hair fell forward, wings about both sides of his face, shadowing his expression.

It took effort, but Sarah slid her hands up his legs. Fingers stretched, reaching for the dangling, hot, aggressive looking cock, and not quite reaching. He smiled at her, menacing from way up there.

"Not just yet, love."

Sarah whined, shocked at herself. Had he done the Ruffie thing again? He was right... she felt in herself nothing but laziness and greed. She'd become so heavy, so pliant. She watched him step over her.... the all too brief, probably very rude glimpse of cock and balls, as seen from beneath... the meeting of thighs and curve of butt. She couldn't imagine what her girlhood self would have made of such things... He must have wanted her to think on it, at least a little, back then. That bulky thing, bouncing along in his leggings.

Now it swung about, generally owning the space of the bed, until he was settled down to his knees, again. Then Sarah became fully aware of the vantage he sought. Her elevated hips, her splayed legs. His tongue was a wet, silken, much needed caress over her sex, covering her fully. Stem to stern. A spike of pleasure, sharp and angst-filled, went through her, agitating at her apex. It happened again when she heard his voice, _"...Mmmm.."_

So... was this what he'd meant? Fear him, love him... do as he said... and he would be her slave. Sarah wasn't so sure she'd upheld her end of it, but she couldn't deny that he was good to his word. She'd never felt so attended to .... Blushing, she realized that he _serviced_ her. he was on his knees, servicing.

It didn't seem to stop his royal one-up-ness, though. That guy. Sneaky, he was always topping from the bottom. Or the top, actually. It was confusing.

"Stop thinking." he murmured, the words a subtle vibration against her sex, lips nudging her clitoris. He gave it a little kiss; a suck.

"I _know_." Sarah sighed, muscles tensing, hips seeking his mouth.

He bit her inner thigh, then crawled and kissed his way up her body. At her ear, he whispered, "I was your guardian rooster, love, because you _so_ needed cock."

He slid into her, hilting his cock, and... _oh, God_... Sarah thought it must be the angle. It felt _so good_. Her knees pulled back, and the movement became deeper. His lower belly was a grind, a steady pulse against her clitoris, his cock filling her.

She cried out, holding onto him, her hands grappling at his back. His mouth covered hers, stealing her breath, swallowing her cries. A storm of rolling darkness overtook Sarah as his hips rocked against her, his cock - all hot, pulsing steel, everything so wet - thrust hard into her. Her body moved, breasts bouncing back; the covers and her hair became tangled. The _bed_ moved, the headboard hammering against the wall. Sarah had a mortified thought for her neighbors, but it was lost; overridden by her need; by the sharp, frightful escalation of pleasure. The roar of blood in her ears drowned it out, as well as the pitch of her own voice. The helpless plea in it.

Jareth broke the deep, invasive kiss, Sarah's mouth open to swallow air as if starved for it. He kissed her jaw, her neck. At her ear, he asked, _"Do you like my cock, Sarah? Does it please you?"_

She nearly screamed, _'yes'_ , a broken stutter as he thrust. He moaned at her ear, then pushed up on his arms. She'd thought the drive of his body was impossibly fast, but it became more so. His thighs, legs spread wide apart, kept her legs wide open, knees back. His upper body remained tensed and still, and his hips, cock-driven, fucked her in a relentless staccato.

Sarah's arms were flung back. Her awareness filled the darkness that took her, and yet honed down to her sex; to his cock. To the squeeze of her body and the heat of his. The heat at her spine. She heard his growl and knew he grimaced, his fangy and snarly. He always managed to look pissed at this moment, before complete euphoria took hold. It excited Sarah... it seemed a loosening of his control, an expression of his own need, taking over. His growl became a panting, pleading, puppy-like sound.... whimpers and whispers of _'yes'._

"You feel... so good..." he gasped. "Your pussy feels so good..."

As if in response, Sarah felt her squeeze on him grow tighter. The blindness of her dark place washed over her, entirely, her breath held. She heard his strangled cry, and then darkness burst into light. Her cry was harsh, her body bucking up to his as the climax held her in it's grip, and then released her. For a moment his thrusts became even faster, erratic. Then his hips stilled, his body flush to hers. He fell on top of her, face buried to her neck, breath ragged and fretful. His hips made little spasms, cock jumping inside of her as he emptied. It made Sarah spasm as well.

She stroked his back, his hair, the room calming around them. She felt so emptied, and yet so full. Her feelings were of an ooey-gooey nature, her lips desperately wanting to whisper that she loved him. She'd come back to herself enough to question it... did she love him? What were they to one another?

She didn't speak the words, but she couldn't stop thinking them, her body folded around him. She felt both protective, and protected.

It dawned on her, the.... she hadn't revisited the dance. She hadn't slipped into the place of developmental delay, titillated and yet harmed to see one or the other of them objectified, displayed and used. She'd only been here, with him. With Jareth.

　

 


	29. Antihero

Sarah had purchased coffee at Crones and Bones called Grumpy Mule; appropriate, Jareth said. A very strong, Sumatran bean. When they were able to move, after a brief, dream soaked nap, Sarah got up to make a pot. She stood in her kitchen, leaning heavily on the counter.... the hovel came complete with a cheap, wood veneer, installed some thirty-eight years prior. (The same was true of most of the appliances... Sarah stood taller than her refrigerator.)

Inhaling deeply, she took in the heady scent of brewing coffee, a dusting of ground bean still on her fingertips. She stared out at the branches of the cedar tree, that once housed a rooster. He'd peered in her window with those offended looking, beady eyes. She'd fed him on her back porch.

Jareth came, a little blearily, into her kitchen. Smallish man though he was, he seemed too big in the hovel. He stood behind her, warm and smelling of a charred, smoky musk; a pale creature in loose khakis, padding on bare feet. His arms came around her, his head nuzzled to hers.

"Hagatha, my darling."

"jareth."

Though somewhat recovered from the oceanic, tidal power of his sex, Sarah still wanted to say the words. She felt them, large and insistent, swelling in her chest. She held her breath, holding them in.... they were too big. She felt, in Jareth, what she hadn't felt since early childhood; family. Belonging. She wasn't sure she could bear it if it was an illusion.

She held tight to the counter as he kissed her neck, his hands warm, fingers splayed at her lower belly. There was a tender feeling where he pressed... Not really pain, but it caused wistfulness, a swell of joy and sorrow. It made her aware of herself as _female_ , as having the potential to be a creatrix. As it stood, her babies must be considered to be animals she'd cared for, or the little bits of art she made. It could be that she'd been wrapped up in trying to raise herself during her maternal years.

The thought came again; she'd once given away a child. She'd won him back, but her initial impulse had been a trade, for her own benefit. Her mother, also, had traded her for something different. Some freedom, some self-made life that couldn't be had if you were an ordinary girl who looked after a screaming baby.

She'd avoided or sabotaged close ties; she'd remained childless. But she was still ordinary.

At her ear, Jareth said, "I love you, Sarah."

She shivered all over, and her eyes filled. She had no kingdom at stake, and yet she wondered if she needed to hear the words even more than he. Turning, she hugged tight to him, feeling the warm reassurance of his hands on her back. When she could trust herself not to weep, she pressed her lips to his, secure in his embrace, his scent of smoke; warm skin, pale hair.

"I love you, too." she told him.

\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Though it was daylight, they retreated back to her bedroom with cups of Grumpy Mule and two Aphrodite Love Cakes, apiece. The 'cakes' were really more like chunky, oatmeal cookies, but they'd been made with honey and rose petals. They were pretty, delicate in flavor, and perhaps a little dry. (Considering the juicy nature of the goddess.) They were good with the coffee.

Jareth opened the blinds of her bedroom window, then threw the windows wide open. The fresh air was cool, as her bedroom window faced the back, wooded area of the complex... deep shade; the forested ridge from which chickens appeared. It was past the spring flowering, when the edge of the woods startled Sarah with dogwood, choke-cherry, forsythia and such. But a froth of white that the locals simply called 'hedge' was everywhere, little, starry blossoms; and it seemed wherever it grew, honeysuckle was entwined. Scents both dewy and lightly sweet drifted ghost tendrils into the bedroom, a dreamy note that danced with the wakeful scent of coffee.

Sitting across from her, in his usual pose, Jareth said, "I think you pine for it more than I do."

"For what?"

"Faerie. The lost kingdom."

Sarah took a deep breath. Perhaps she did. She felt responsible, and the burden of it kept her tied. She was an archiver of Faerie.

"You know," Jareth nudged her. " _Here_ isn't so bad. Once upon a time, we were here... it was our world, too. We always wanted it back... our place in it. The problem was magic. Always seen as a threat."

Sarah looked long at him, reconciling the arrogant king of her youth, the demon of her missing years and the strange, pretty creature before her. His look of being older, that was yet timeless. The everyday man who was anything but ordinary.

"I don't know about _here_." she said. "All of the tearing down of nature and building up of economy. _Progress_. Steel and plastic and wires... everywhere. Plus, thanks to my job, I can't help but be aware of _people_. So many of them around here are messed up on meth, or prescription painkillers. Usually both. Or the up and down cocktail of meth and Xanax. They're so oblivious of everything. They wreck cars, hurt other people; they act like they want to die, but they _don't_. Instead, they blame everyone else, the system, for everything that's ever gone wrong. They hurt animals. I don't know if _here_ is good, Jareth. People are ignorant... of love. Magic."

He frowned, and looked considering. "I'll admit, humans are an aggressive lot." he said. "After all, they're at the top of the food chain. The ones who succeeded. But every race... every _world_ has destruction. Self destruction... destruction of others and of the land. There's always greed, avarice. Abuse of power. We, Faerie, kept humans as slaves when we were more powerful... which was only in little pockets. We didn't care well for them. We gave them illusions of living in grand richness, caring for their own. We glamoured them. In reality, they toiled in filth and poverty, rarely fed, unloved. They tended to _our_ needs until they spent and died, and then we stole more."

Feeling a jolt, Sarah said, "Really?"

Nodding, Jareth said, "With waning power, that had pretty much died out by the time I came along. But, yes; that was a way of life. Part of our history. The stories you read aren't without warnings of those things, Sarah. As time passes and no one believes, it's the magic that has taken precedent. The wish for it, lingering in the human world... lingering where magic withdrew. But the stories still warn of being taken by faeries, of aging a century in what seems to be one night. Dancing to one's death; dying of 'faerie illness', 'elven illness'; wasting diseases. You even find stories that imply a deal, if not explicitly stated, between humans and faerie. Tribes or kingdoms that worked out a tithe.... The Fae court coming to collect it's new, human child every seven or nine years..."

Like Tam Lin, Sarah thought. And yes, there were others. With her own history of peering down rabbit holes, checking the backs of wardrobes, testing mirrors for solidity and such; she'd often overlooked the abduction nature of many faerie stories. The cruelty. Perhaps it's why _his_ cruelty had come as such a shock. She might have been a self-tithe, a willing victim, so strong was her pull to another world. He sense that she didn't belong to the world to which she'd been born. It had taken the imperilment of her brother to make her begin to see differently. And then... she couldn't stand it; she'd shut down, altogether.

She couldn't really be here or there... Where _was_ she?

Gesturing to the window, Jareth said, "Look, Sarah. And listen."

She saw green, dappled with sunlight and deep shadow. Delicate sprays of white flower. Birds darted to and fro, busy; she heard their chatter and song. A mockingbird, maniacally going through it's repertoire, which included a car alarm. Distant crows, in tree tops and in fields. A not-distant but not-close _shoosh_ of cars on the road. Dogs; a far off mower.

"Your people are aggressive. " Jareth repeated. "They often seem willing to throw away the Earth, their home, in pursuit of wealth and convenience. But... Can you feel it, love? Nature is aggressive, too. Forces are still alive in it; old deities, who haven't anything to do with the human race."

"Old deities?"

He nodded, chewing and swallowing. "Yes, love. Deities of forest. Land and water. Deities that the Fae once revered, as the magic was tied to nature. As my magic is. In spite of humans, nature - in this world - is very strong."

"Do you think so?" Sarah asked. She feared for it... the warming and chaotic weather patterns so often documented, now. The demise of the world.

"I know so." Jareth said. He gave his fangy smile. "People do, indeed, _bite_. But nature bites back. It puts out thorns, snakes, poisonous plants. Plagues of insects. If your people become forgetful, lose respect, it will fuck them up. In ways, nature is even stronger , here, than in other worlds... perhaps it competes with humans. It's _muscled_." Smiling, he added, "I can't think of any Fae who have been eaten by tigers or had their faces clawed off by a bear. Or kingdoms that disappeared into sinkholes."

Sarah smiled back. Perhaps it _was_ forgetfulness, lack of respect that caused such things to occur. But a shudder went through her, for she couldn't rid herself of the feeling of _people_... all over, teeming masses. She was one of them. They just kept coming, overrunning everything, worse than roaches.

Studying her, Jareth said, "Let's say you _were_ the girl from the prophesy."

Sarah groaned, letting her head fall to her knees.

"Let's suppose I seduced your girlhood self, and you forgot your brother, who might become a goblin.... or who might become either a work slave or a stud in Faerie."

Snorting, Sarah rolled her eyes at Toby the Stud.

Jareth's smile was almost a leer. "There are less pleasant forms of enslavement, it's true. But let's say this all came to pass, and you'd pledged yourself to me, and the division between the human world and Faerie faded. Then what?"

"Then... I don't know." Sarah said. "It's _open_. People would come to know magic, restore it, I guess. We could travel back and forth. Like America and Europe."

"Perhaps." Jareth allowed. "Or the Fae might make war. They might want to take back the world they thought was stolen from them. Humans, as they did long ago, might react to magic as they do to the atom bomb."

Scrunching her face, Sarah said, "Well.... yes. I guess that's the novelization, the movie version of what could happen. It's kind of back and white; don't you think? Us against them."

"But love, it's _always_ us against them, and it's never black and white. Stories of war differ on both sides, because neither side sees itself as the bad guy, the villain - in the wrong. And the winner is the one who records the events, the _causes_ of the events for history. In some cases the losers' voices are closed down, forever... such as the Fae. Where are our manuscripts? Our artifacts? Clues to our way of life or what motivated invasion into one territory or another.

"All that's left is stories, changed over time, so blended with human stories to the point that _all_ are hybrid. And then relegated to the nursery."

Sarah looked down. All that is left, she thought, is you. And everyone thinks you're one of us.

"The more subjugated a race," Jareth said, " the more it will want to rise up, to smite whoever or whatever dominated it, and make sure it is never dominated again. I can tell you that if you'd loved me, then, you would have found yourself with a warlord for a husband. A cruel, driven man, yet a boy in his homeland. You would have been seen as a traitor by your own people, and as a girl who'd committed a sort of infanticide. As it stands, your people will never know what you've spared them."

Sarah winced, bodily rejecting such a statement. "Come on! Don't paint me as a hero. I was so self-involved... All I wanted was to be in faerie, wherever, whatever that was. All I wanted was _you_. I only bucked up and fought for Toby because I _had_ to, Jareth. You know this. You know who I was, then... and who I am, now."

"Indeed. A bit of an anti-hero, then."

"Oh, yes. That's me. I'm Wolverine."

Tilting his head, Jareth grinned. "Less stout and hairy."

"I don't say 'bub' as much..."

Chuckling, Jareth said, "Still. You're a woman who hates her peers, but wouldn't see harm come to them. You _protect_ , Sarah. It's what you do. You protected your friends in the Labyrinth, and taught them to do the same. I believe you've been isolated for so long because you fear it... being responsible, protecting others. Making decisions and having to live with whatever impact they have. Consequences."

"Like the loss of Faerie."

He looked at her for a long time. Fae man, having ingested rose petals with honey... he was hers, now; juiced up on a love goddess. Sarah swallowed. It was so strange to understand that all of her pining, her waiting... had been for him.

"Yes, love." he said. 'Like that."

 


	30. Swimmer Angel

"I want to alleviate your guilt." Jareth murmured, back to kissing and cuddling. Sarah was aware of the open, bedroom window, she and her consort in plain view, should anyone pass by.

The kisses were from coffee warmed lips and carried the kick of Grumpy Mule. They were honeyed, and lightly touched with rose petals. _This_ was what Saturday morning was supposed to be. Soon, Sarah knew, Crones and Bones would beckon. But for now there was only sex, coffee and cookies. Repeat until out of body, in an inter-stellar orbit.

Plus, they lived in a county where businesses had signs reading, 'Open By Chance'. How that had annoyed Sarah when she'd first moved... even the damn water department. Now, however, it began to seem like a good idea.

"Why?" Sarah asked, moving her lips against his. It was a quiet, smooshy way of speaking. "When did you get to be so level headed? Forgiving? Shouldn't this be the part where you crow your triumph over me and throw me to the wolves, or something?"

Leaning back, Jareth regarded her with his odd eyes. Alien thoughts moved behind them.

"What wolves? All of your wolves are in here." He tapped his fingers to her head, then her heart. "We all have those, love. You're not as alone as you think."

Swallowed by her new, frighteningly open feeling of _love_ , Sarah peered out from within a fragile shelter. Her bones had become too soft... she needed to be held up. She was so changed, and not yet adjusted. Was she still snarky? Did she still have points to make?

"Well... the guilt is what it is."

"It shouldn't be. It wasn't your fault. I have such regrets for telling you...."

"If it's not my fault, then whose?"

Jareth's eyes went wide for a moment. His long fingered hand splayed open over his bony chest. " _Ours_. The Fae."

"Lack of belief in magic is your fault? My failure to be... one of you. How is that the fault of your people?"

"Because, love. We'd set it up, put the pieces in place. We could be brutes, as I've said. You know, as much as I read in my homeland, I've read so much more, here. So many different voices, perspectives. The way I see things is changed... I don't think it could ever change back. If Faerie was alive and well, a castle and a luxury of effortless magic awaiting my arrival, I don't think I could go back. I've seen so much now, Sarah. I've learned so much. What happened to us, my people... we did it to ourselves."

"... But.... Humans _suck_."

Grinning, Jareth said, "There's your tee-shirt. My dearest expat."

"It's true, though." Sarah insisted.

"You don't suck." Jareth said. He pulled a tragic, martyred face and said, "Sadly, I mean that literally." He sighed.

Sarah rolled her eyes. So then... she was still a little snarky. Not entirely changed.

He kissed her again, taking her somewhat out of the snark. His hand made a warm snaking up under her tee-shirt, once more the goth Hello Kitty. Sarah allowed it, feeling a slow sort of heat, a pleasurable re-firing of nerves. Tingling wakefulness in flesh that was already swollen and unsettled, open to suggestion.

He sat back and watched her face as he cupped and fondled, fingers finding her hardened nipple, playing with it. Exhaling shakily, Sarah said, "Window."

Jareth smiled at her, but his hand stayed put, his body alert before her. He gave another quick kiss, a fond squeeze, then sat back, releasing her. Sarah was hot and bothered, flushed and breathy.... not altogether receptive as he began speaking again.

"What if your angels didn't fall?" he posed. "What if they _jumped_?"

"Really? Now? You're pontificating? Sermonizing?"

"Oh, feeling greedy again, are we, Tish?" He showed his teeth, the under-growl making it's purr. "Don't fret... I'm dying to get in your strawberry pajamas... or, no. Those are _cherries_. Even better."

The evil, snaky hand sidled between her legs; his thumb made a firm pressure just above her perturbed clitoris, and then stroked rousingly downward. With a soft moan, Sarah let her legs fall apart. She sat against her pillows, legs frogged, and smoldered as he stroked up and down, over her cherry PJs. She throbbed so that she wanted his mouth again. His tongue. She wanted him naked, sprawled on the bed, hips in a hard-up grind as he sucked her clit. He hips rocked with the thought, and Jareth laughed.

"Oh, Morticia." He said.

"It's your fault." Sarah told him. "You've driven me to this. I am what you've made me."

"Mmmm."

Still stroking, a soft whisper, up and down, he resumed his speech. Sarah couldn't believe it. The damn Fae, she thought.... the Fae and their inability to let go of _words_. She breathed through parted lips, moving with his hand, trying to listen.

"Maybe," he said, rather hushed, watching his hand, then her face, "your angels saw something like _this_." For a molten, dizzying moment he palmed her sex with his hand. Heel at her clitoris, fingertips at her entrance, palm sending heat-waves into her core. Then he stroked again, the backs of his fingers brushing against her. "They saw it, and they decided it was so much better, so much more real and connected than their world, and they wanted to _feel_. To feel such a thing was more powerful, more alluring than the eternity that was theirs.

"So rather than falling from Grace, they leapt from it. They dived, plunged in. They swam through layers of atmosphere, stars and supernova; listening to the whale-like sound of the universe. Little by little, they gathered to themselves the denseness of molecules and began to have flesh. So they might _feel_.

"What if that's the truth, rather than a Fall... but it's never told that way, because no one wants to say 'The Great Swim' ?"

Smiling, Sarah said, "What if?"

"Well... you know, some of your myths propose that faeries are fallen angels."

"Oh, I see. Now you're an _angel_. You're a fallen angel, and I'm a hero."

Smiling back, Jareth said, "I'm a swimmer angel, and you're an antihero."

"You do love your stories; don't you, Jareth?"

"Mmm. Almost as much as your pussy."

She felt it, her _pussy_ , bear down. His fingers were such a tease, a tickle outside of the barrier of her pajama bottoms... she needed more. She felt as if her stomach growled, heat at her face and unbearable at her lower belly.

"Jareth, the window."

Getting to his hands and knees, sinuous, lissome animal, he kissed her. He sucked the nipple of each breast through her tee-shirt, lightly biting; then he rose, closing window and blinds. Giving a smoldering, yet rather comedic look over his shoulder, he padded to her dresser and retrieved the toy.

Sarah couldn't find the wherewithal to protest. Seeing his intent, she scooted out of her bottoms and lay back, opening her legs. Aching.

_".... Morticia..."_

"Jareth... _please_..." Her fingertips touched gingerly against her clitoris. They slid in wetness.

She watched him unbutton, unzip the khakis and let them fall, then he crawled on the bed, holding the play-cock in his teeth with a vicious snarl. His own cock was flush to his belly; a deep blush made it dark. He shook his head, his silky hair falling, pretending to savage the rubbery thing. Like a dog.

"That's sort of disturbing." Sarah noted.

_"Grrrrrrr."_

"Cannibal."

He dropped the toy to her belly, where it landed with a thump. He kissed her again. Sarah went limp, helpless to it, to the heat that poured from his body. His tongue, in the wide-mouthed, aggressive way he sometimes had, fucked her mouth. It obliterated nearly every thought, but for his cock; but for connection. His fingers slid into her sex, doing the same. She was driven at both ends, her body pooling and generating heat between.

Pulling back to look at her, breath labored, Jareth said, "There should be two of me."

"Am I that much work?"

His lip curled, and he said, "Oh, yes. You've always taxed me. Think on it, love... to be caught between two of me. One to kiss your mouth and one to lick your pussy. One to fuck you, and one to teach you to properly suck cock."

Sarah felt herself tighten on his fingers, a flush blooming in her chest; pins and needles. What her mind saw was pure pornography, and she was surprised she responded to it as she did. Suddenly all she wanted was to be on her hands and knees, strung out between two Jareths, ( _maybe the Goblin King and her present day lover_ ), a river of sensation that connected them as they made a rhythm at her pussy and mouth. She moaned, her body twisting at the waist, pelvis riding Jareth's fingers.

His chuckle was the deep, throaty, maybe evil chuckle she knew well. Another image assaulted her... the lion headed Goblin King, naked - as she'd never seen him, back then - considering her while tapping his riding crop to his thigh.

Her eyes opened, taking in the high blush on the sculpted ridge of Jareth's cheeks. She lowered her hand to pull his fingers from inside her, and coaxed him to slap her there, lightly. He did it, his eyes dark and watching her face, her body. It was a wet sound, and Sarah's hips jerked with each little slap, her eyes closing again, weighted with desire.

"You like that, Tish?"

_"Yes."_

Startling her, he gathered up her legs and pushed them back, lifting her hips from the bed a little. Her knees pressed together; the backs of her thighs, her butt in easy access. He smacked her there, fingers sometimes slapping over the peepshow of her sex. Sarah's body flinched, but she didn't feel pain. It was little shocks of pleasure that jolted her... she wanted to open her legs, to feel direct sensation at her clitoris, but she was trapped. She felt his teeth on the backs of her thighs, the pleasured tease of the slaps. Bending to her, Jareth lapped wetly at the little pout of her sex.

Finally, he let her legs down to the bed, where they fell open. She watched him pick up the toy from her belly, and - without hesitation - suck it. Much more of his wicked imagery... she was going to implode. She still couldn't quite shake the riding crop.

With a puckish slurp, a rakehell glance, meeting her eyes, he released the toy from his mouth and eased it inside of her. Sarah's knees automatically pulled back... he held one of her ankles as he worked her, watching the wet slide of the toy. Sarah saw his downturned snarl... a frightful look. Her mind rocked with the way he moved so seamlessly between aggression and submission. Her body rocked as well, and her eyes closed; the friction, the movement bringing her darkness. It rolled over her, a gathering storm, and picked up as she felt Jareth move underneath one of her legs. Her calf lay over his upper back, and his tongue made soft motions over her clitoris as he fucked her with the toy; a purr in his chest as her cries hitched.

It became overwhelming, a little scary. "I can't take much more of this." She said, unsteady. Uncertain within the darkness. he slowed the motion of the toy, kissed her thigh.

"What do you want, love?"

"I don't know."

She wanted it to keep going, without cease; she also wanted everything to stop.... it was unnerving to want darkness to take her, to lift her out of herself. Maybe she would disappear, forever.

Jareth moved from beneath her leg, and came to stretch out beside her. "I'm going to tell you a story." he said softly. "And we're going to get ourselves off."

"How romantic."

He grinned at her. "Harridan. You'll like it. You'll like the control. You'll like seeing me stroke my cock."

He did so, pressing his lips softly to hers. Sarah liked it.

His story had no plot. In fact, to Sarah, the story mattered not at all... it was that he knew how his voice carried her. He knew how wet she became, how darkness fed it, when she worked herself as he watched. When he touched himself. His story was only how he wanted to touch her, to be inside her. And how he loved to see her, blushing and hot, legs open; fingers busy.

Before it was done, he got to his knees beside her, stroking his long, reddened cock near her head. She turned to face him, letting him touch the head to her lips. Her body jumped, a spasm in her belly as he moaned, wetting her lips with his arousal.

For a moment her eyes fluttered open, looking at him. She kissed the soft skin at the head of the cock, tasting his saline taste, the texture slick on her tongue. He was so hot against her lips, and his abdomen trembled, so. She touched a hand to his thigh, the muscles tensed and taut, and opened her mouth to him.

He lost all control. His throat made a garbled, shaking inhalation, and he said, _"Oh, fuck!"_ A spasm took his hips, hand clenching his cock in squeezing desperation, and Sarah was very surprised to find little pearls of white splattered over her lips, cheek and breasts... and - she realized - a huge splash on the wall beside the bed. Jareth moaned, a long, low moan of both release and humiliation. Sarah propped up on her elbows, staring at the prodigious splatter sliding down her wall. She wiped her hand over her mouth and said, "Holy crap." Then she broke onto laughter.

"Oh, Morticia. You bitch."

"I'm sorry." she smiled. She smothered another little bubble of laughter and smiled, again. Jareth collapsed, looking very pretty and debauched, one sharp hipbone curved up as his knees fell to the side.

"That was just so unexpected." Sarah said.

Jareth moaned again.

"Wow. You must have really wanted me to do that. Here I was thinking you were all in control, in charge..."

"Oh, love, do shut up."

" _Look_ at the wall."

"Yes. It's astounding. Witness my shame."

"Oh, come on. Buck up." She smiled at him.

The sudden turn _did_ something to her. The darkness that was sweeping her up had receded, but left in it's wake a very physical, meat and potatoes, bare bones awareness of her arousal; the petulant whine of her clitoris and the deep ache inside of her. The way her flesh swelled with the angst of her blood. She looked at her capsized, Fae man, and could only think of how he'd told her to _use_ him. He lay with his arms thrown back, looking at her in a mixture of embarrassment and amusement.

"You look like you're hatching an evil plan, my darling gorgon."

"I think I am." Sarah confessed.

She toyed with his cock, softening and rather sweet in it's less angry state.

"It's as mortified as I am." Jareth said. "It has fainted from the ordeal, and may take some time to revive."

Sarah said, "Poor thing." Sitting up, she bent to give it a little kiss, smiling as Jareth groaned. She got to her knees, moving up his body, watching as his eyes tracked her movements.

"What are you up to?" he asked, a slow smile coming to his lips; the hint of a rapacious curl at the corners.

"Well.... you've left me quite breathless... and... _unfinished_." Sarah said. She straddled his head, feeling his hands come instantly to her hips, her butt. "I need you to lick me." she whispered.

The growl back in place, dark beneath the civilized softness of his voice, Jareth said, _"Oh, Morticia."_ Fingers digging into her flesh, he opened his mouth wide to her, tongue laving.

　

　

 


	31. And Then...

The sound system in Crones and Bones blared the Johnny Hollow cover of 'People are Strange'. Sarah looked about... surely there were no customers when the music was so loud. But there was no Jareth, no Oscar, either. Well, Oscar was probably in hiding from the volume.

The rapid piano and sweep of violin gave the song a whole, new feeling, and Sarah was awash in it. She stared at wind-chimes and ornaments of stained glass; giant posters with prints of Pre-Raphaelite paintings; one poster was an old Bauhaus album cover, taken from 'The Cabinet of Dr. Caligari.'

Jareth appeared from the junk/gift store, the door frame now covered in glittering cut-outs of moons and stars. Seeing her, he waltzed to her side and swirled her up into a dance that moved them all about the tearoom. He dipped her in the entrance to the bookstore, placing a little kiss on her sternum. Then it was back up and whirlwinded until the song ended.

Turning the volume down, he smiled at her. "Hello, cutie."

" _Cutie_? That's new."

He only grinned in response. "How was your day, love?"

"It sort of blew. I read a paragraph about Medicare reimbursement that included the phrase, 'geometric mean'. "

"Ugh. Math bad."

"Tell me about it."

He reached under the counter, and Sarah felt her insides tense. It could be another sex toy. But, instead, he brought up a big, ruffly, semi-sheer, Victorian sort of hat; black and festooned with black roses done in satin.

"I thought of you at once, Morticia." he said, handing it to her.

Sarah tried it on, feeling like her younger, costuming self. She posed for him, and he said, "It suits you, love. Very Lydia from Beetlejuice."

"Ah, right. _'Trouble with the living?'_ "

Upside down smile mirthful, Jareth said, "Indeed. Always. _Nothing_ but trouble."

He came around the counter, very dashing, Sarah thought, in one of his brocade vests and dark trousers. The sound system quietly played 'East of the Sun, West of the Moon' by A-ha. It wasn't exactly dancing music, slow or fast, but he took her in his arms and danced a slow dance. His face became somber.

"What's up, G.K.?"

"I was thinking, love, that you should leave your place of employment, where they make you do math. You should bring all of your play-pretties from your hovel and come to live with me. Spend your days drawing and painting. Making little figurines for Crones and Bones... pursue magic. Spend your nights tormenting me in my bed. Vent your bad moods at me and let me soothe you with cakes and coffee. And cock." he grinned.

"Really?"

He twirled them. "Yes. I'm a cheat, you realize. The magic keeps me well afloat. It's not as if we'd suffer for money."

Experiencing a feeling of unreality, Sarah said, "I don't know if I can do that." But she smiled. He was infectious, his face at once handsome, silly, weird. " _I_ would feel like a cheat." she said. "Like I should be in a real job."

"Your creativity _is_ your work, love. You'd have a chance to focus on it, for it's own sake. Whether or not it leads to money is irrelevant."

A dreamy feeling was coming over Sarah. She was dancing in a 'Lydia' hat.... with Jareth. Maybe she _was_ dreaming.

"Just think on it, Sarah. Even if you'd rather not leave your job, think about living with me." He leaned under the flamboyant brim of her hat and kissed her. Warmth, tobacco. And he'd had a chocolate chip cookie.

Nuzzling her, he said, "You're the only one I want to watch movies with. To dance with." Close to her ear, he murmured, "To _fuck_."

Sarah bit her lip, her eyes closing for a moment. Recovering, she said, "Well.... I do hate everyone except for you."

" _That's_ the spirit!" he said with a broad, happy, inverted smile.

He turned from her as people came into Crones and Bones, holding her hand for a moment before turning on his eccentric, C & B charm. Sarah stood in sunlight, a prism hanging from a wind-chime breaking the light into dozens of tiny, sparking spectrums. They bounced all around, almost a circle that surrounded her; she, in her hat, standing with her hand braced on the back of a chair.

The circle moved in a sourceless little draft, and Oscar appeared, staring after the little rainbows.

Feeling change in the air, possibility... _magic_... another rabbit ran over her grave. Sarah smiled.

 

**THE END**

 

　

 


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